


The Potion King

by booktrash23



Category: Haikyuu!!, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Genre: Additional tags and pairings to be added, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Snow White Fusion, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Not Beta Read, Rated T for swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booktrash23/pseuds/booktrash23
Summary: King Oikawa Tooru of the Aoba Johsai kingdom is the fairest of them all—or he was, until one day his stepson, Prince Kageyama Tobio, surpasses him. Jealous and enraged, Oikawa orders his Huntsman to kill the young prince, but Iwaizumi has other ideas. Meanwhile, tensions escalate between the kingdoms of Shiratorizawa and Karasuno when mysterious forces threaten the royal families. Can a cottage full of dwarves really save the world?
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Comments: 21
Kudos: 30





	1. The Magic Mirror

King Oikawa Tooru was the most beautiful man in the world.

Every morning, just to make sure of this fact, he made his voyage to the hidden underground levels of Aoba Johsai’s palace. The passages here were labyrinthine and lined with countless doors; some locked, some gaping and empty. Tooru made his way to the heart of the palace, the very deepest room. It was quite small, considering the various treasures it housed. Most of them collected dust in heaps by the shadowed periphery, but the large, oval mirror in the wall commanded attention.

Tooru adjusted the long, black cape over his shoulders as he ascended the steps to stand before it. The pristine glass radiated a dim, pale green light that reflected off the elegant scrollwork frame and cast the room in ominous shadow. He took just a moment to study his reflection: smooth, glowing pale skin, bright eyes framed with long lashes, and glossy chocolate hair that framed his face just so. Perfect, as usual. Tempted though he was to continue preening, this mirror had a different purpose. Taking a deep breath, he raised his arms and prepared to cast the spell.

_“Slaves in the magic mirror,_

_Come from the farthest space,_

_Through wind and darkness, I summon thee! Speak!_

_Let me see your faces.”_

At the end of his incantation, Tooru’s reflection was replaced with a column of raging fire; in seconds, it died down to reveal the familiar faces of two wearied, young men.

“Do you have to do that every time?” said the dark-haired one in a long-suffering monotone.

“Don’t try to play me, Mattsun!” Tooru reprimanded. “I know better than to misspeak my summonings and set two djinn loose in my palace.”

“Fine,” said Makki, the brown-haired one. “What do you want? Same old, same old?”

Tooru pouted before casting the second spell. _“Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”_

He expected their wearied response of, “You, obviously. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that…”

But instead, the djinn hesitated. They shared a glance, quirked their eyebrows, hummed a bit. Fear crawled up Tooru’s spine and rooted him to the ground. _It couldn’t be…it can’t be…_

“The _fairest_ one of all…” Makki said, drawing the words out as though he were pondering it. “The _very_ fairest? As in, the _most_ beautiful in all the land?”

“Yes, obviously!” Tooru yelled. He wasn’t enjoying the smirk on Makki’s face one bit.

“No prizes for second place?” Mattsun asked.

So that confirmed it: Tooru had lost his position. The blood in his veins ran cold.

“Who is it?” he seethed.

“I see…a young boy,” said Makki, and Tooru had a sinking feeling he wasn’t referring to his boyish charm. “With lips red as blood, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow.”

The familiar description hit Tooru like a slap to the face.

 _“Tobio.”_ He gasped. The name tasted like poison on his tongue.

“Indeed,” Makki affirmed. “Your stepson has surpassed you.”

Of course. Of _course_ it had to be Kageyama Tobio.

“Shit!” Tooru yelled. He unfastened his cape and tried to throw it in his rage, but it was so bulky and heavy that it just pooled at his feet in a heap of velvet and ermine. He kicked it, and that seemed slightly more effective. “Shit, shit! He’s fourteen years old, how the fuck is he the most beautiful already?!”

Mattsun didn’t have shoulders, but Tooru got the distinct sense that he shrugged. “Dunno. Just seems to be born that way.”

His tone was apathetic, not insulting, but the words made Tooru burn with rage. The Crown Prince’s looks had been extolled all his life: first, as the cutest baby ever born, then as the loveliest boy, and now—apparently—he was the fairest of them all.

“H-has he been stealing my beauty potions?” Tooru stammered. He felt like he was scrambling for purchase on a sheer cliffside.

“No,” Makki said. “But you already knew that.”

The djinni was right. Tooru triple-checked his potion inventory everyday, and nothing was missing. His cauldron room had multiple locks—both mundane and magical—in addition to round-the-clock guards; even if Tobio were particularly bright (which he wasn’t), he didn’t have a chance of getting in.

“Not fair!” he screamed, punctuating his words with more kicks to his favourite cape. He was going to regret that later, but for now, he didn’t care. “Why does he just get to be born with _everything?!_ ”

“The world has never been fair,” Mattsun supplied. “Why does it surprise you now?”

Tears pricked at Tooru’s eyes. _Because I worked harder,_ he wanted to say. _I’m the one who left everything I knew to study my ass off. I’m the one who worked long hours over steaming cauldrons, and burned my throat downing potion after potion—but it was worth it, because I would win. But now I’ve lost. And he never even had to try._

He didn’t voice any of those thoughts, however. Tooru doubted the djinn would understand or care about such human matters, let alone show him sympathy.

Tooru drew several long, shaky breaths until his eyes felt mostly dry. “Where is he.” He demanded, his voice colder and steadier than he’d expected.

The image in the mirror rippled and the djinns’ faces disappeared. In their place was the image of Tooru’s blasted stepson, chatting with someone at a well instead of scrubbing the garden walkways like Tooru had told him to. Tooru scowled, then noticed that Tobio looked like he was arguing.

“Who is he talking to?” Tooru asked.

The image expanded to reveal a young, very short boy with orange hair. Tooru furrowed his brows.

“Is…is that a dwarf?” he asked.

“Yes.” Makki replied.

“But—” Tooru stammered. “I don’t employ any dwarves!”

“Yeah, he broke in.” Makki said.

“He what?!” Tooru squawked.

“We were going to tell you,” Mattsun added. “But it seemed like you needed a moment.”

“I—” Tooru turned around to face his door. “Guards!” he yelled, hoping it was loud enough to carry through the walls. He turned back to the mirror, incredulous. “You guys are the worst security ever!”

“Not as bad as your watchmen, apparently,” Mattsun countered, and Makki chuckled.

Tooru threw his hands up and groaned in exasperation before running out.


	2. The Wishing Well

Prince Kageyama Tobio was sick and tired of scrubbing.

He set down the sudsy bristle brush and tried to blow his bangs out of his eyes, but they were soaked with sweat and stuck to his skin. Tobio wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and lay down on the cool, washed stone. Why did his stupid stepfather need the garden stairs cleaned on such a scorching day, anyway? And why did it have to be _him_ who cleaned it?

A few doves cooed as they landed near him, and he glowered at their white, feathered forms. He didn’t mind animals, not really, but they were always following him and pooping on the surfaces he’d just cleaned. With a groan, the young prince stood up and grabbed his empty pail, heading to the well to refill it. Maybe he should dump some water on himself, first, to cool off. He could already tell his pale skin was going to be red and blistered for days.

The coarse rope chafed his hands as he heaved the dripping well bucket up. He set it on the lip of the well, and on a whim, he leaned forward to peer into the dark, still water far below. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief from the shade the small roof afforded him. When he opened his eyes, his reflection stared back up at him. _Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony_. For as long as he could remember, nobility, servants, and everyone in between had praised his beauty with that sentiment. Only his stepfather didn’t—which, honestly, would have been refreshing, if Tobio didn’t think it was rooted in jealousy. He rested his chin on a hand and and appraised his reflection. Personally, he wished he looked a little less feminine. When he gazed at the water, all he could see was his mother’s face.

With a jolt, Tobio realized this was his mother’s favourite well—the one farthest from the palace, right by the wall. She’d played with him here before, when he was little. The memory was fuzzy, but he could still remember…

_Six-year-old Tobio sat on the well and bumped his heels against the stones. His mother’s arms hugged him close to her chest, and she rested her chin on his head. He watched her reflection break into a mischievous smile._

_“Want to know a secret?” she whispered. “Promise not to tell?”_

_Tobio nodded so eagerly, she giggled._

_“We are standing by a wishing well,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Make a wish into the well; that’s all you have to do. And if you hear it echoing, your wish will soon come true.”_

_“Any wish, Mama?” Tobio asked, awestruck._

_“Any wish, my dear.”_

_Tobio held his arms over his head. “I wish for pork curry for dinner!” he shouted. It echoed off the well stones, a whole chorus of hungry Tobios wishing at once._

_His mother broke into proper laughter then, melodious as birdsong. She lifted him off of the well and swung him around, and he laughed back with her._

Tobio didn’t realize he was crying until he saw teardrops rippling the surface of the water. He sniffled and wiped his nose.

“I wish,” he started, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. “I wish I could leave this place.”

His voice echoed off the well stones. Tobio’s lips perked up in a little smile.

Being the heir to the throne, Tobio was the most well-guarded person in the whole kingdom—even more so than his stepfather, the King Regent. Even if he managed to run away, staying hidden would be impossible. Asking to travel was out of the question—Tobio’s father had specified in his will that he and Oikawa were not to be separated, so that Oikawa could raise and look after him. It was wrong to speak ill of the dead, Tobio knew, but he couldn’t help but think that his father was a real idiot for that decision.

“Who are you talking to?”

Tobio shrieked and jumped back from the well, knocking over his pail. On the other side of the well was a remarkably short boy with an unruly mop of orange hair. Tobio had never seen him before, so he couldn’t be a palace worker—and anyway, his black-and-orange looked foreign. The boy regarded him with curious brown eyes.

“W-who are you?” Tobio stammered. “How did you get in here? Guards!” he barked, but no one came. They were probably all resting in the shade, while someone had _violated palace grounds_.

“My name’s Hinata Shouyou.” The boy, Hinata, gestured with his thumb behind him. “I jumped over the wall.”

Tobio gawked. “No way a shrimp like you could jump that high!” he exclaimed. Even Tobio would struggle to clear that wall, and he was over a foot taller.

Hinata scoffed, arms akimbo. “Yeah, I did! And you would have noticed, too, if you weren’t so busy talking to your dumb reflection! Who does that?”

Tobio huffed and crossed his arms. “Please. If you think I’m bad, you should meet my stepfather. He’s practically glued to his mirror all day. And I wasn’t talking to my reflection—I was making a wish.”

Hinata cocked his head to the side. “A wish?” he asked, before his eyes lit up with realization. “Oh, is this a wishing well? Cool, I’ve never seen one! Can I make a wish, too?”

“No,” Tobio said, much to Hinata’s disappointment. “Intruders don’t get to make wishes.”

“That’s not fair!” Hinata pouted. After a moment, he said, “Well, if you want to leave so badly, why don’t you just go? I’m sure you could get a job cleaning someplace besides the palace.”

Tobio scowled. “I can’t just leave, dumbass. I’m the prince.”

“Hey, who’re you calling a dumbass?” Hinata said, pointing his finger at Tobio. “You’re the real dumbass, if you expect me to believe you’re a prince when you’re dressed in rags!”

Tobio gritted his teeth. He knew that his stained, oversized white shirt and patchwork pants weren’t befitting of a prince, but Oikawa had taken all of his royal clothes. Not that he was going to let this shrimpy boy know that.

“How would you know?” Tobio sneered. “I bet you’ve never even seen royalty before.”

Hinata puffed up his slight chest, which was ridiculous, since he was so short the well mostly blocked Tobio’s view. “I’ll have you know that I’m best friends with the princess of Karasuno!” he declared. “Now who’s the dumbass?”

Tobio barked a single, mocking laugh. “No way!” he scoffed. “Why would Princess Hitoka want to hang out with you?”

“I’m great company!” he insisted. “I’m really nice and funny, and I don’t call people a dumbass when I meet them!”

“You just did, dumbass!”

“Yeah, but you deserved it!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“If you’re such good friends with the princess of Karasuno,” Tobio challenged, “why don’t you go hang out with her?”

Tobio expected a sharp jab in reply, but it didn’t come. Instead, Hinata cast his face downwards, suddenly solemn.

“That’s the thing,” he said, soft and subdued. “I don’t know where she is. Nobody’s seen her in two days.”

The words took a moment to sink in. “She…went missing?” Tobio asked, incredulous. “I haven’t heard anything about that.” Then again, it wasn’t like Oikawa ever told him anything.

“Daichi said not to tell anyone,” Hinata admitted. “But I think that’s stupid. I mean, how are people supposed to look for her if they don’t even know she’s missing?”

For once, Hinata’s logic seemed sound.

“Is that what you’re doing here, then?” Tobio asked. “Looking for her?”

Hinata nodded, his eyes suddenly ablaze with intensity that raised goosebumps on Tobio’s arms, even in the heat.

“I won’t stop until I find her.” His vow held nothing but unwavering conviction.

Tobio furrowed his brows. “Just one question,” he said. “Why the hell did you come to a foreign palace to search for a missing princess?”

“I leave no stone unturned!” Hinata declared, before his bravado dissolved into a sheepish smile. A blush crept up his cheeks “And…because you looked lonely, and a bit sad.”

Tobio started and squashed down the sudden pang in his chest. “I am not—”

His response was cut short by an arrow that whizzed past his ear and embedded into a wooden post beside a wide-eyed, gulping Hinata. Tobio whipped his head around to see a a dozen or so archers on horseback galloping towards them. Oh, so the guards weren’t asleep; that was nice to know. As annoying as the intruder was, however, Tobio didn’t want him dead. He waved his hands above his head to signal them to stop. When he turned back around, Hinata was making a mad dash towards the wall. The boy brought a hand up to the top to haul himself over, and—wow, he really _could_ jump over it. Tobio hated that he was even a little impressed by the irritating, trespassing shrimp.

“Good-bye, fake prince!” Tobio heard Hinata sing from the other side of the wall, and he scowled again.

“Get lost!” he yelled, then jumped as he heard his own voice yell back at him, multiplied and echoing off the well stones.

* * *

Tooru couldn’t believe at the scene that greeted him when he entered the palace atrium.

Prince Tobio reclined upon a sofa—his grimy, sweat-soaked clothes no doubt staining the fabric—while a dozen hovering servants variously offered him towels, iced lemonade, and massages. As if all of that wasn’t insufferable enough, it seemed the young royal couldn’t even be bothered to enjoy the attention: his eyes flitted around anxiously, and his posture was stiff. Tooru could hold back a scowl. _Even dressed in rags, even with blotchy skin and sweaty hair, he’s still more beautiful than me._

“Watari!” Tooru called, and his bald Defence Minister snapped to attention.

He bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Cut the bullshit,” Tooru said, and Watari flinched. “How did a dwarf boy, of all people, break into palace grounds on your watch?”

Watari straightened, and Tooru suspected the sweat dripping down his temple wasn’t caused by the heat. “Umm…the thing is…” he stammered. “His Highness told us that…the dwarf… _jumped_ over the wall.”

Tooru opened his mouth, but no words came out. _This is just one of those days,_ he thought, _when nothing makes sense anymore_.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he managed to say. “Not even Tobio could come up with something that stupid.”

“I’m right here!” the prince complained, but Tooru didn’t turn to acknowledge him. “And I saw him jump!”

“What, we don’t have guards on the perimeter?” Tooru asked Watari, who flinched again.

“We do, Your Majesty,” he explained. “But there seems to have been a blind spot. That must have been…the site. Of the jumping.”

A blind spot—Tooru had sent a group of guards last night to investigate a border disturbance; that must have caused the security shortage. The mission was top secret, though, so he hadn’t expected anyone to take advantage of the hole in his defence. He grimaced and shook his head.

“I called for more guards just now—why did they fail to capture him?” he demanded, changing the subject.

If possible, Watari looked even more nervous.

“His Highness ordered them to stand down.” The minister admitted, avoiding Tooru’s gaze.

Tooru closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache threatened at his temples.

“Tobio.” He said. “Why did you do that?”

Tobio drew his knees up to his chest, pouting. “They were shooting arrows at him,” he muttered. “I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“They were shooting arrows at him,” Tooru explained slowly, his voice low and dangerous, “because he broke in. He was a threat to our safety.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Tobio insisted, and Tooru imagined grasping his neck between his hands and _squeezing_. “I mean, he was pretty annoying. But he wasn’t threatening at all. He’s so small, I doubt he could—”

Tooru stepped towards him. “That’s not the point!” he hissed, trying desperately to keep from screaming. “You let him get away! Now we don’t know who he is or why he trespassed!”

“He told me his name! It’s Hinata Shouyou.”

“And did you ever consider,” Tooru said, “that he might have been lying?”

Tobio blinked. Of course he hadn’t thought of it. The prince turned away, sheepish.

“He said he’s looking for princess Hitoka,” Tobio mumbled.

“What do you mean, looking for her?” Tooru asked. “I haven’t heard from anyone that she’s missing.” Surely Keishin would have let him know if his daughter were taken? _Unless…_

“Hinata said so,” Tobio insisted, as though the dwarf’s word was infallible. “He said she went missing two days ago, and that it’s a secret—”

“I don’t care what Hinata said!” Tooru screamed, flailing his arns. “Hinata is a criminal!” Tobio flinched and turned his head further away. “You know, Tobio, you’ve been nothing but irresponsible today! First you shirk your chores to chat with a trespasser, and then you allow him to get away without consequence? That’s completely unacceptable!”

Tobio crossed his arms and glared at him. “Hey, I’m the one who could have died if Hinata had actually been evil! Why don’t we have enough guards, anyway? Isn’t that your fault?”

A hush fell over the room. No one, not even the Crown Prince, was permitted to speak to the King that way. Tooru felt his blood boil over.

Something in his gaze must have shaken the boy, because he shrank down into himself like all his anger had been smothered.

“Outside,” Tooru snapped. “I want that walkway to be sparkling by sundown. You there,” he gestured vaguely to two guards by the wall. “Accompany him.”

The guards saluted him and made their way towards the prince. Reluctantly, as though his limbs were leaden, he got up from the sofa and followed them out.

As Tooru’s eyes tracked the prince’s retreating figure, he let himself imagine how much better his life would be if Tobio weren’t in it. Tooru would once again be the fairest of them all. The palace hallways would be so much more serene and lively without the boy’s brooding presence. He wouldn’t have to spend any more time coaching the idiot prince on how to rule the country once he snatched Tooru’s throne from under him, virtue of nothing but his birth. _Not fair_ , he thought once again. _If only Tobio were dead._

The thought was followed by a cold slice of panic, the kind he hadn’t felt since the former King was alive. Back then, whenever Tooru had spoken out of turn, stumbled his footing, or even thought anything wrong in Kageyama presence, he’d been seized by a sharp paranoia. For years, he’d been haunted by the King’s stern, disapproving gaze, as though he were always one wrong move away from being thrown to the streets.

 _Kageyama is dead_ , Tooru reminded himself. _I am the King now, and no one can stop me._

“Your Majesty,” Watari broke Tooru’s reverie. “Should I issue a search warrant for the dwarf boy? With His Highness’s description, we could—”

“No,” Tooru interrupted calmly before turning to face him. “I’d rather not advertise that my home was so easily violated. We’ll just increase security around the palace. Let the dwarf consider himself lucky.”

Watari bowed once more. “As you wish, Majesty.”

Tooru barely heard him. The plan pieced itself together in his mind, almost of its own volition, and he felt a smile creep across his lips.

_The world has never been fair…but I can make it fairer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was watching the original Disney movie for reference and the Queen seems pissed that Snow White caught the eye of a prince, but she just,,,does not care?? That the dude trespassed on her property??? Doesn't call the guards on him or anything????? Big "bruh" moment if you ask me, not saying my fic is better than the classic but that's exactly what I'm saying


	3. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's backstory time babeyyy

After a year of working at the royal palace, Hajime knew his way around well. He’d grown fond of the pale bricked castle, with its teal roofs and its many turrets and spiral staircases. He’d traversed the long, winding halls, lined on either side with doors and sombre oil portraits; some of the passageways were dead ends, and other palace staff whispered that they used to lead to secret lower floors. Hajime didn’t know how credible those rumours were, and he certainly wasn’t going to snoop around himself.

However, he almost never visited the throne room. Hajime had only been once, in fact, to officially accept his position as Royal Huntsman; this meant that, now, he was unfamiliar with the path there. After making several wrong turns, Hajime started to feel uneasy; he didn’t know how the king would take it if he were tardy.

Hajime didn’t often see the king. Sure, they technically lived in the same building, but they were both busy men. Some days, he would catch a glimpse of chocolate hair disappearing around a corner, or the flash of a blue tunic down the hallway, and they’d share a fleeting moment of eye contact before turning away and resuming on their separate paths. If Hajime wanted to flatter himself, he’d even say Oikawa was avoiding him; that the reason they spoke almost exclusively in scribbled notes and palace messengers had nothing to do with the king’s busy schedule. But they were meeting now.

After retracing his steps and making a few more experimental turns, his memory finally clicked, and he found himself fast approaching the grand, oaken doors to the throne room. Each door was deeply carved with a peacock, rendered in intricate swirls. Hajime took a deep breath to steady himself before he turned the handles and pushed. The doors were heavy, but they opened smoothly, and then Hajime was face-to-face with Oikawa Tooru.

The King Regent reclined on his throne at the far side of the room. The throne’s back was also carved into a large peacock, resplendent in teal and white: Aoba Johsai’s flag colours. Oikawa had one foot propped on a knee in false nonchalance; Hajime knew it was false by the tight set of his jaw and the _tap-tap-tap-_ ing of his finger on an arrest.

Hajime bowed deeply. “Your Majesty.”

“Iwaizumi-san, I’m glad you could attend to me at such short notice.”

Hajime straightened and walked closer. He rarely had the opportunity, so he allowed himself to appraise his king’s face: his pale skin, smooth as wax and limned with a supernatural glow; the artificial flush of his lips and cheeks; the high cheekbones that cast stark shadows upon the hollows of his cheeks. His hair was stiff and firmly fixed into place. He hardly looked like a person anymore.

“What did you need me for, you Majesty?”

Oikawa hummed and looked off into the distance, as though his plan wasn’t quite fully thought out yet, though his eyes burned with an intensity that undermined his jovial tone. “I think it’s high time Tobio had an excursion, don’t you?”

Hajime froze for a moment—did Oikawa actually want his opinion? How the hell was he supposed to know anything about the prince?—but the King went on without waiting for him to answer.

“Take him far into the forest,” Oikawa gestured with a hand. “Find some secluded place, where he can pick wildflowers, or whatever he wants to do.”

Hajime blinked in confusion. Babysitting the prince wasn’t exactly his job…although following the King’s orders certainly was. Moreover, Oikawa didn’t seem to think much of his stepson. In fact, he dressed the prince in rags and gave him menial chores around the palace to ‘teach him humility’. Maybe this was a step in the right direction. The prince certainly seemed to be sick of being stuck in the palace; a trip to the forest would be good for him. Hajime started to nod, but Oikawa wasn’t done yet.

“And there, my faithful Huntsman,” the king said, leaning forwards. “You will kill him.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Hajime opened his mouth and closed it again, gaping like a dying fish.

“Excuse me?” he finally asked.

“Of course, no one else can know,” the king continued, as if he hadn’t heard him. “This is between just us. We’ll say he was kidnapped. That should be pretty believable right about now.”

“But—your Majesty!” Hajime sputtered, searching Oikawa’s expression. “You can’t be serious!”

This—this had to be some kind of elaborate, messed up prank on Hajime. There was no way…no way Oikawa was ordering him to…

“I am serious,” the king said in a cold, hard voice Hajime had never heard before. “You have until dusk tomorrow to complete the job.”

“ _The job?_ ” Hajime scoffed. “I’m your Huntsman, not an assassin! This isn’t a wild boar or rare elk you’re asking me to kill—this is your stepson!” He pointed at Oikawa. “The person you swore to your husband you’d protect with your life!”

“Takehiro is dead,” Oikawa hissed. “I’m the king now, and I order you to kill Tobio.”

“I…I can’t just—”

“You know the penalty if you fail.”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Hajime said without thinking. The king’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t know what I would do.” The king’s voice was low and dangerous, and for the first time, Hajime felt the cold thrill of fear up his spine. “But to make doubly sure you do not fail,” he continued, holding out a small wooden box from beside him. “Bring back his heart in this.”

Hajime stared, wide-eyed, at what the king held. It was a test, a final rite of acceptance. _This is insane,_ Hajime thought. _Oikawa’s gone insane._

A thousand arguments, a thousand exclamations, clamoured at the tip of Hajime’s tongue. He gritted his teeth and swallowed them all back.

“Yes, your Majesty.” He stepped forward and took the box. The wood was smooth, but he felt repulsed by it. By what he was being ordered to put in it.

The king sat back on his throne. “You are dismissed.”

With a small bow, Hajime turned his back and left the way he came, steps even and assured despite the spinning in his head.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

***

Hinata Shouyou didn’t get lost.

He was a dwarf, a creature of the Karasuno forest. The same magic that wreathed the gnarled tree branches ran in his veins; it was as entwined with his being as it was with the forest. Normally, he had no reason to fear the shadowy underbrush or the twisting paths, the treacherous branches that seemed to reach out with thorny claws. But today seemed exceptional.

This was the fourth time he’d passed the same rock with a rainbow lizard sunning itself on it. He thought he’d finally made some headway the third time, but it had turned out to be the same rock; the lizard had just left. It was back now, and it stuck its tongue out at him as he approached, as if in mockery. Shoyou growled and kicked rock, then yelped as pain shot up his toes. The lizard didn’t even flinch.

 _Stupid fake prince with his pretty face,_ Shoyou thought as he held his injured foot and hopped back on the other one. This was all his fault! If he hadn’t been so pretty, Shoyou wouldn’t have gotten distracted, and he wouldn’t have had to run from palace guards or walk in circles for hours in the forest. He might even have found Hitoka by now. So, really, it was all _his_ fault that the princess was still missing.

When Shoyou had leaped over the wall to find a pale, dark-haired human boy leaning over a well, he’d been intrigued. He’d intended to just ask about Hitoka and leave, but one look into those deep blue eyes, and Shoyou was hooked. He knew he would talk or argue or stand there all day if it meant he could keep looking into those eyes. Not that the rest of his face hadn’t been nice to look at. His nose was slender and graceful, and his lips were so flushed and red—

Shoyou stamped his foot on the ground. _Stop thinking nice things about him!_ He scolded himself. _He’s the reason you’re in this mess! Him and that stupid wishing well. Why did he have to wish for me to get lost?_

Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. Instead of having a destination in mind, Hinata faced away in a random direction. What if he actually tried to get lost? Would that cancel out the magic and lead him to where he wanted to go? He closed his eyes and walked blind, arms extended on both sides so he didn’t walk into any trees, and let his feet carry him. He walked for seemed to be a good long while, and opened his eyes. His jaw dropped.

A lizard stuck its tongue out at him.

It was that same damned rock.

Shoyou wanted to scream. Why? Why did his feet keep bringing him here? He knew he had to be close to home, but he just couldn’t find it. Maybe he should have learned to read maps, like Tsukishima kept telling him, but the forest was confusing and difficult to navigate by design. Much of it was unmarked by paths, and the ones that existed were winding and roundabout. Besides, what was the point of reading a map when the magic of the forest always had guided his feet to where they needed to go?

Except for today, that was.

Defeated, Shoyou slumped down against a particularly wide oak. How was he going to find Hitoka when he couldn’t even find his own home? He thought of his blonde friend—her smile whenever Shoyou complimented her artwork, the determined set of her brows when she set her mind to something. He couldn’t believe that she was just _gone_. Wherever she was, was she scared right now? Was she in any pain? Did she know how hard everyone was looking for her?

Shoyou was snapped from his train of thought by a quiet male voice from the other side of the tree.

“Any word from the kings?”

“Hush!” said a different, older man’s voice. “We must be careful! Here, even the trees have ears.”

“Right, sorry. So…?”

“Nothing yet. They’re being incredibly stubborn. Perhaps they actually think they can rescue her on their own.”

“Or maybe they don’t even know what you’re talking about? I mean, you said yourself, the underground city was pretty arcane knowledge.”

“Would you be quiet!” the old man snapped, before continuing softly, “Oh, that old bastard Ikkei knows—of that, I’m sure. I wonder how much longer he’ll let his granddaughter rot for his precious secret?”

 _These are the people that kidnapped Hitoka!_ Every muscle in Shoyou’s body felt frozen. So he hadn’t quite found who he was looking for, but he’d found the next best thing.

He shot up and sprinted around the tree.

“I hear something! We need to go!” said the first voice. Shoyou saw two cloaked figures, one significantly taller than the other.

“Get back here!” Hinata yelled, arms out in front of him to catch them, but even with his speed, he couldn’t catch them. Before his eyes, the shorter figure grabbed the taller one and melted into the shadows of the trees. Shoyou waved his hands through where they had been, but he felt only air.

“ _Damn it!_ ” he screamed. He’d been so close, maybe closer than anyone else, to finding Hitoka, and he’d blown his only shot. Shoyou scanned the forest around him for any sign of two kidnappers, but they had truly disappeared.

And he was still lost.

***

The meadow had plenty of wildflowers; everywhere were splashes of buttery yellow, deep blue, pale purple, and bright, blood red. Bumblebees buzzed from between blooms; hummingbirds flitted past in flashes of emerald; the air was weighted with the comfortable, drowsy heat of a summer afternoon.

Prince Kageyama had been confused but happy when Hajime had fetched him early that morning for the “excursion”. They’d travelled together on Hajime’s chestnut mare through a private route reserved for royalty. It had taken several hours to reach the Karasuno Forest, and another to find a spot as splendid as the meadow, but the young prince had endured it without complaint. In fact, whenever Hajime had glanced back, he’d seen a rare smile on the boy’s lips. It made his heart clench.

The boy was, indeed, picking wildflowers; Hajime had suggested it, and Kageyama didn’t seem to know what else to do. He’d picked so many, in fact, that he was now making a flower crown—a skill Hajime hadn’t known he possessed. His focus was unwavering as his long, nimble fingers braided the stems. Hajime doubted the prince would even notice if he walked up to him, right there and then, and unsheathed his sword. His blind trust made Hajime feel sick to his stomach.

 _How did I get here?_ Hajime asked himself, not for the first time today. _How did it get to this point, with me and Oikawa?_

The other palace staff probably thought Oikawa had always been the way he is now: vindictive, petty, endlessly preening, obsessed with power and beauty and resentful of anyone with more of it than him. But Hajime knew better.

It was Oikawa’s best-kept secret that he was not of noble birth. Most people assumed he was merchant class, at least, given his education. But Hajime knew Oikawa had been born to a laundress and a miner, raised in a rickety shack on the dusty, impoverished fringes of the kingdom. He knew this because he’d grown up in the house next to him.

Their mothers were the kind of crazy best friends who chose to be neighbours and got pregnant at the same time so their children would be best friends, too. And it worked. For fifteen years, Tooru had been a constant presence by Hajime’s side. Each boy had eaten at the other’s house as much as his own. They’d sold milk door-to-door before chasing each other around with sticks; they’d wrestled in the grassy meadows, and explored the expansive woodlands for weird and wonderful insects scuttling inside hollowed tree trunks. Of course, it had been insect hunting that had ripped them apart, in the end.

***

“Iwa-chan! Look what I found!”

“What is it?” Hajime drawled, not looking up from the bush where he was crouched. It twitched—aha! There _was_ something inside. Hajime checked his grip on his wooden stick and his jam jar, ready to flush the mystery bug out.

“Iwa-chaaaaan! Come here, it’s really exciting!”

“Shut up, Oikawa!” Hajime growled. “I’m trying to focus on catching this bug. It keeps hiding from me.”

“But Iwa-chan!” his friend insisted. “I found a beetle! A _really_ big one! And it’s so pretty!”

Now he had Hajime’s attention. With reluctance, Hajime stood up and turned his head to look at his best friend.

Oikawa was crouched, wide-eyed and beaming, before a beetle scuttling along a dead branch. It really was huge, about the size of his hand, and its casing was a red as deep and rich as blood.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“I told you!” Oikawa whined, petty even when awestruck. “Iwa-chan, help me catch it!”

As though it could hear him, the beetle lifted its beautiful red casing and and beat its wings. Oikawa’s expression melted into shock and horror.

“No!” he shot up, trying to catch the insect with his bare hands, but Hajime was faster. From the ground, he grabbed the stick that had a piece of fishnet attached and swung it over his head, right at the escaping beetle. The net caught in the insect’s legs and wings, and in one fluid moment, Hajime brought the stick back down with a _thump_ , trapping the bug. Quick as lightning, he grabbed an empty jar and stuffed the beetle into it, fumbling to get the net out while keeping the bug in. Finally, he screwed on the lid, trapping the creature, and held it out in front of him like a trophy.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa gasped, eyes sparkling and clasped hands pressed to his chest. “You did it!” Abruptly, he crossed his arms and turned his head. “Not that you needed to! I had the situation under control.”

“Sure you did,” Hajime said, but his focus was on the beetle. Up close, he could see the areas of amber and maroon that gave the glossy casing a fantastic depth. In all his ten years of life, he’d never seen a creature as beautiful as this. The beetle scrabbled at the glass and fluttered its wings, quite miffed to be trapped. Oikawa plucked the jar from Hajime’s hands with an indignant noise.

“Next time, I won’t lose to you, Iwa-chan!”

“I thought by this point you’d be used to it,” Hajime said, and chuckled when Tooru dropped his jaw and protested.

The _clink_ of the frantic beetle’s body against the jar soon recaptured their full attention.

“Woah,” Oikawa said, bringing the jar so close to his face Hajime could see it smush his nose. “That’s the coolest bug I’ve ever seen.”

Hajime privately agreed, but Oikawa was the one who’d found it, so he didn’t say anything.

“We should take it to the bazaar,” he suggested.

“Ooh!” Oikawa said, turning to his friend. “Do you think someone would pay a lot for it?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Hajime shrugged, and with that, they were off.

Oikawa and Hajime both agreed that the bazaar was the best place ever. The vibrantly painted wooden signs, the stalls clustered together in rows, and the constant stream of bustling foot traffic all contributed to a lively atmosphere that seemed so far removed from where their homes were. The only downside was that it was far, and the hazy noonday sun directly above them brought a sweat to their skin, but it was worth it.

They didn’t have a plan. They certainly didn’t have a stall. The two boys simply wandered around the bazaar, Tooru’s slender arms clutching the jar close to his chest like he thought someone might steal it. Looking back, Hajime didn’t know what he expected to happen, but after an hour or so, their feet were sore, and they were tired of waiting for someone to approach them. Hajime was just about to suggest they head home he heard a man shout.

“Oy! You there, boy with the jar!” he called, running over. He was tall and thin, with dark, greying hair and brown skin set with wrinkles. A triangular beard exaggerated his pointy chin. What really caught the boys’ attention, though, was the robes he wore: long and draping cotton dyed a rich, deep teal. Neither boy had ever seen anything like it; their own patchwork rags varied between white and brown.

“Yes?” asked Oikawa.

“How much for the Khoun beetle?” the man asked, wide-eyed gaze focused on the bug. Hajime instinctively took a step back.

The boys shared a glance. Neither knew how much this bug should sell for; they hadn’t even known its name until now. Oikawa looked up at the man with a winning grin.

“Five gold pieces!” he declared. Hajime’s jaw dropped. He’d never even seen a gold piece in his life, and he knew Oikawa hadn’t, either. There was no way anyone was going to pay that much for a bug, no matter how pretty. He was about to tell Oikawa as much when the man dug into his drawstring pouch.

“Deal!” he exclaimed, and now it was Tooru’s turn to drop his jaw as the man placed the shiny coins into his little hand. He swiped the jar from Oikawa with a ridiculous grin, holding it even more tightly than the boy had, and Hajime—even through his disbelief—wondered if the strange old man had actually gotten a bargain.

“Wait!” Oikawa called to the man after he turned around.

“Sorry, a deal’s a deal,” the man drawled, walking away.

“I just have a question!” Oikawa insisted. The man turned his head to the side to glance at them sideways.

“What?”

“What are you going to do with the bug?”

The man’s face broke into a smug smile. “It’s for a potion,” he explained. “To promote youth and vitality. It’s been all the rage among the noblewomen in the capital, ever since the Queen said she used it.”

“Wow,” Oikawa said, his brown eyes sparkly with awe. “You make potions for noblewomen? In the capital?”

The man’s cheeks flushed with the flattery, though Hajime just scowled at Oikawa’s usual ass-kissing. “I am Potions Master Michi,” he declared, puffing up his slight chest and throwing his shoulders back. “Of the highest tier of the Potion-Brewers’ Guild, in fact! Our workshop is in the capital, but I’ve worked at the royal palace, too.” he waved a dismissive hand at the surrounding stalls. “I just stopped by here for some ingredients.”

“That’s so cool!” Oikawa fawned, and Hajime resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ve never been to the capital!”

The Potions Master laughed, his face alight with self-importance. “Well, boy,” he said. “All you have to do is work and study hard like me, and you can make it to the capital, too!”

Oikawa’s face fell, and his eyes lost their gleam. “But I don’t know how to make potions,” he said. “I don’t even know how to start.”

The man furrowed his brows. “I’m sure you can find a beginner’s recipe book here somewhere.” he said, looking around at the signs on the stalls.

“Yeah, but…I can’t read.” Oikawa admitted in a small voice, his face downcast.

Hajime scowled as embarrassed understanding dawned on the man’s face. _Stupid, rich, city potion-maker._ Neither he nor Oikawa knew how to read. Neither did anyone in their families, nor anyone on their run-down street. They could barely feed themselves; they didn’t have enough money to go to school, and they certainly didn’t have enough to waste on recipe books or potion ingredients.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then,” the man said, his voice soft. His eyes had a faraway look to them as he got out another gold coin and pressed it into Oikawa’s hand. “I’m in the bazaar for another week, so me know if you find any more of those beetles, okay?”

The man finally left; Oikawa turned his head to watch his retreating form.

“We don’t need his charity.” Hajime scoffed.

Oikawa looked down at the gleaming coins in his small palm. “Sure is nice to have, though.”

“I guess. Hey, what are you doing?” Hajime asked as Oikawa grabbed one of his hands and put three gold coins into it.

“That’s for you.”

“I-I can’t take this! You found the beetle, you should keep the money.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who caught it.”

“Oikawa, I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. You just did.” Oikawa laughed as Hajime glared. The brown-haired boy’s expression turned soft. “Iwa-chan,” he said. “We’re family, right? What’s mine is yours.”

Hajime sighed before finally conceding with an, “Okay.” Oikawa’s smile was bright as Hajime pocketed the money, wondering how the hell they were going to explain to their parents where they’d gotten it.

“Poor bug,” Hajime commented, thinking of the beetle’s red legs scrabbling for purchase against the glass. “That man’s going to grind it up just so some rich lady can have ‘youth and vitality’.”

Oikawa’s brows furrowed. “You’ve never seemed sad about killing a bug before,” he pointed out.

“I know. But that one was so pretty.”

The next day, Oikawa stood outside Hajime’s house with his hands full of jars and nets and his eyes filled with purpose. It took some searching, but they found the same hollowed trunkwhere Oikawa had found the valuable beetle. He walked around the area, seemingly inspecting every tiny detail, while Hajime stood to the side, arms crossed.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re looking for?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet myself,” was Oikawa’s maddening answer.

“What does that even mean?”

Instead of responding, Oikawa crouched by the tree and stuck his hands and face inside. Hajime was about to growl at him to give him a proper explanation when Oikawa let out a soft _huh_.

“What is it?”

Between his fingers, Oikawa held a clump of moss. Upon closer inspection, Hajime could see that something was different about it.

“Is…is that moss blue? I’ve never seen that before.”

“Neither have I…” Oikawa muttered, all focus on the moss. “Iwa-chan, open that jar for me.”

Hajime huffed as he picked it up. “Would it kill you to say ‘please’?”

“Please, wonderful Iwa-chan, I would be _so_ grateful if you could spare a moment of your busy day to open that jar—ow! Don’t hit me, I could have dropped the moss!”

Hajime rolled his eyes as Oikawa dropped the precious blue clumps into the jar. “What’s so special about that moss, anyway?”

Oikawa’s grin was fierce when he turned to Hajime. “It has to be connected to the Khoun beetle somehow,” he said, voice heavy with conviction. “Maybe it eats it, or sleeps on it, or something. But it can’t be a coincidence that the only place we’ve ever seen this bug is also the only place we’ve ever seen this blue moss.”

Hajime regarded the colourful, but otherwise unimpressive, plant matter in Oikawa’s shaking hands. He shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah. Makes sense.”

Oikawa smiled as he stood and gathered the other supplies. “Then let’s get to work.”

They pulled all the moss they could from that tree, put it in various jars, and spread them out in the woodlands. When Hajime questioned how Oikawa would remember where all of the jars were, he ran off without telling Hajime where he was going. When he returned, his hands were filled with wildflowers, and they placed them around all of the jars like colourful beacons.

Oikawa was bouncing with excitement when they went back the next day, already planning all the things he would buy with the gold. With every empty jar they passed, his face fell a little more, until the smile had been wiped off his face altogether. His eyes were downcast as they headed home.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Hajime said, patting his friend on the back. “Maybe there’ll be one tomorrow.”

Oikawa hummed in half-hearted assent, but he held his head a little higher.

They didn’t find anything the next day, or the day after that. On the fourth day, Oikawa wandered the woodlands with heavy feet and gave each jar a cursory glance as they passed it. That was why, when he finally saw a flash of brilliant red, he turned his head away out of habit before stopping dead in his tracks.

“Iwa-chan…” he gasped. Hajime nodded, dumbstruck; he saw it, too.

On tiptoe, they crept towards the jar, afraid that any loud or sudden movements would spook the beetle inside. As they got closer, they realized they hadn’t needed to be so careful: the bug was asleep in the jar, presumably full, since most of the moss inside was gone. Oikawa picked the lid up from the ground and screwed it on. He held the jar up to his face, eyes wide. The beetle didn’t stir.

“WE DID IT!!” Oikawa whooped, holding the jar up over his head in triumph. His smile was so bright, it could have blinded the sun.

“Your plan worked,” Hajime said. “I mean, I knew it would, but still.”

Oikawa chuckled. “I told you I’d beat you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah. You win this time.”

“Race you to the bazaar!” Oikawa yelled, already running past Hajime.

“Not fair, Crappykawa!” he shouted as he sprinted, his feet kicking up dust. A few paces ahead of him, clutching a jar as he ran, Oikawa giggled.

The expression on the Potion Master’s face when Oikawa proudly slammed the jar on the table in front of him was worth all the gold coins in the world.

“Wh—” he stammered, eyes flickering between the beetle and the two ten-year-olds before him. “You actually found another one?”

“Yep!” Oikawa stood with arms akimbo, proud as a hunter that had taken down a tiger, rather than a kid that had stuffed some moss in a jar. “Well, I set a trap for it and caught it. And Iwa-chan helped!”

The poor man had yet to pick his jaw up off the floor. Hajime smirked at his incredulity. It seemed the hotshot city potion-maker had been stumped by two illiterate children.

“You _caught_ it?” Michi repeated, leaning forward. “You mean you learned how to trap and capture Khoun beetles? Could you catch more?”

“Absolutely!” Oikawa declared, though he knew as well as Hajime did that there was no guarantee. “You probably want to know how I did it, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Michi leaned in even more. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Well too bad!” Oikawa shouted, and the man stepped back in surprise. “I’m not telling you!”

“I—”

“Not for free, anyway.”

Michi’s face broke into a relieved smile. “Then name your price.”

Oikawa slapped his hand on the lid of the jar. The beetle inside shook awake. “Fifty gold coins for the beetle!”

Michi gasped. “That’s—that’s unreasonable! I’m not paying that much!”

The boys shared a glance. For just an instant, Hajime had seen something in the man’s eyes—something that looked an awful lot like consideration. _He almost agreed to it,_ Hajime realized. _That must mean this is closer to the beetle’s real value._

“Then we’re taking our business elsewhere,” Hajime declared as he stepped forward and picked up the glass. Michi’s eyes latched onto the red bug inside and followed them as they drew away from his stall.

They hadn’t gone more than a few steps before they heard a frantic, “No, wait!”

Hajime gave Oikawa a sideways glance and smirk. “What did I tell you?”

Oikawa pivoted around to face the man, hands clasped behind his back. He gave him his sweetest smile. “Yes, sir?”

“I’ll take it,” he said, so quickly he stumbled over his words. “The Khoun beetle. And your methods of catching it.”

Oikawa quirked a brow. “The beetle is fifty gold coins,” he reiterated. “But my methods will cost you two hundred. _And_ you have to teach me how to make potions.”

Hajime furrowed his brows; they hadn’t discussed that last part.

Michi sputtered, flabbergasted. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am.”

“I’m not paying that much!”

Oikawa shrugged, unbothered. “I guess he doesn’t want to catch any more cool beetles, Iwa-chan.”

“A shame,” Hajime agreed. “We’ll just have to catch all of them ourselves.”

“Do you kids even know how much money that is?” the man asked.

Now Hajime levelled a glare at him. “We may not be able to read,” he said. “But we can count.”

Michi looked between the two boys, clearly torn. “One hundred fifty for your methods,” he finally said.

“Nope!” Oikawa chirped. “Two hundred, take it or leave it!”

He groaned in frustration. “You kids! Argh, fine. Wait outside my tent, I’ll get the money.”

Hajime tried not to let his shock show as he looked at Oikawa again. _Holy shit, did that just work?_ He thought, but didn’t dare to say aloud, as though this were an illusion that might shatter. _Did we just make more money in two minutes than we thought we’d ever make in our whole lives?_

The potion master’s test wasn’t far from the bazaar. The teal cloth contraption seemed massive, bigger than either boy’s house. Michi motioned for them to stay outside, but he hesitated as he lifted the flap to enter.

“On second thought,” he said. “I need you two to come in and sign a receipt document. I’m going to be in hot water if there’s no record of a transaction this big.”

“But I can’t—” Oikawa started.

“I know you can’t write. Just…make a scribble or something.” The man held the flap up higher and cocked his head, gesturing for them to go inside. After a reluctant glance, the boys entered the tent. As soon as they were inside, Oikawa gasped.

At the tent’s centre, below a hole in the ceiling, a three-legged cast iron cauldron stood over a fire. Some vibrant purple concoction bubbled and frothed, threatening to drip over. The raging flames underneath licked up its sides. The sides of the tent held most of the potion master’s possessions: teetering, waist-high stacks of books and papers; trunks of clothes; a small cot shoved in a corner; and innumerable jars, pots, and pouches of what Hajime could only assume were potion ingredients.

“This is incredible,” Oikawa whispered, his voice softened by awe. His eyes eagerly drank in the sights, though he couldn’t know what any of it meant.

Michi shrugged. “It’s your standard travelling setup,” he said, any attempt at humility undermined by his smug smile. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to where I normally work.”

Oikawa turned to him with a radiant smile. “So this is where you’ll teach me how to brew potions?” he asked.

The potions master frowned. “I’m not sure how much I could teach you when you don’t even know how to read,” he said.” And besides, I’m leaving in two days. But,” he added, nothing Oikawa’s drooping frown. “I could give you one, very basic lesson tomorrow.”

All of Oikawa’s awe and excitement returned. “Thank you, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get over here.” He walked over to his stack of trunks, which seemed to double as a writing desk. Sheets of parchment adorned with elaborate writings and diagrams were scattered across its surface, underneath a well of black ink and a metal pen. Michi plucked the pen from its stand, gracefully dipped it in ink, and began to write on a blank sheet. After a moment, he handed the pen to Oikawa.

“Your signature,” he said, motioning to the parchment. Oikawa seemed unusually nervous as he approached it, but Hajime understood why. It was frustrating, to be confronted head-on with something they knew nothing about. Oikawa fiddled with how he held the pen for a moment before pressing it to the paper. He made a noise of frustration as he produced a small, shaky line—nothing like the elegant, confident strokes of the man’s handwriting. The potions master sighed.

“Never mind, I’ll just do it,” he said, taking the pen from Oikawa. “What’s your name?”

With a start, the boys realized that they hadn’t yet introduced themselves to Michi. “I’m Oikawa Tooru. And this is my best friend, Iwa-chan!”

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Hajime clarified when he caught Michi’s withering look.

Hajime leaned over Michi’s shoulder as he wrote. He’d never seen his own name written before; it was surreal to think that these strokes of ink somehow represented him.

“And now,” the potions master said, finishing up his writing. “It’s time for your explanation. How in the world did you catch that beetle?”

“Money first,” Oikawa sang. The man scowled.

“Fine.” He went to his cot—even that seemed extravagant to Hajime—and pulled out a wooden chest from underneath it. It took a while for him to count two hundred and fifty gold coins, but Hajime and Oikawa didn’t mind the wait one bit.

Hajime’s and Oikawa’s parents were more shocked and less pleased than either boy had anticipated by the amount of money they’d brought home. They thought their children had won it by gambling, but luckily, the potions master had given them a copy of the receipt. Their parents couldn’t read it, obviously, but it had a fancy-looking wax seal on it, which seemed to placate the adults to a degree. And once they got into the groove of spending the money, its source didn’t seem to bother them anymore.

First, they bought more food—fresh, ripe fruits, gleaming fish from the river, bags of rice as heavy as Hajime. Then, they bought clothes; for the first time, Hajime wore new, soft clothes that weren’t hand-me-downs. When summer ended and the autumn chill nipped at their cheeks, their parents sent them to school, and there they learned how to read. Now the boys knew what each stall at the bazaar was selling; they could write their names and sign receipts, they could read maps and plan trips to far-off places. Oikawa especially loved to read—he tore through every book he could get his hands on, not just the ones on potion-making, as though he were compensating for his decade of illiteracy.

Michi returned the next summer, putting Oikawa’s bug-catching methods to use. It must have been quite successful, because he greeted them with a big smile when he saw them next—in fact, he even agreed to teach Oikawa to make potions.

Oikawa told Hajime all about the lessons when he came home at night, but Hajime wasn’t nearly as interested in the craft. Instead, he listened for the excited catch in Oikawa’s voice; he watched the gleam in his eyes and the flush in his cheeks, the impassioned speed at which his hands moved when he talked about this craft that he loved.

At school, Hajime proved far more athletic and adept with weaponry. His teachers crowed that he could climb the ranks in the army, or even join the Royal Guard. Even as their interests diverged, the two boys remained best friends and spent all their free time together. It was the natural order of things, for Oikawa to be at Hajime’s side, just as it was for the sun to rise each morning or the rivers to flow to the sea. It was the way things always had been, and Hajime assumed it was the way things always would be.

“You’re really going.”

Oikawa had been talking about leaving for the capital for months now. Soon after his fifteenth birthday, he’d received a gilded letter in the mail and wept with joy: the Potion-Brewer’s Guild, on Michi’s recommendation, had personally invited him as a member. The past few weeks, Oikawa had been swept up in preparations and extra study. He’d confided in Hajime all his excitement about seeing the city, and all his anxieties that he wouldn’t live up to the high standards now placed on him. Hajime had helped Oikawa pick out all the clothes and books he deemed necessary (quite a bit more than Hajime recommended) and watched him stuff them into trunks stacked at the foot of his bed. But it wasn’t until this very moment, standing in the bare bedroom with Oikawa in his new travelling clothes and the neighing of carriage horses outside, that it really sank in for Hajime.

“Yeah. I’m really going.”

Hajime opened his mouth to say something else, but the words were stopped by a painful lump in his throat. He looked away as he felt his eyes well up with tears.

Oikawa crossed the room in three large strides and wrapped his arms around Hajime in a fierce hug. Hajime brought his arms up and hugged his best friend back just as tightly.

Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he sobbed into Oikawa’s shoulder. All the grief that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before came crashing down on him now. That clear realization— _he’s leaving, he’s leaving, he won’t be around anymore_ —rang in his head like a horrible mantra. Hajime cried harder.

Of course the idiot was crying now, too; big, ugly sobs that he never let anyone else see. When he pulled away, Oikawa’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks tear-stained and blotchy, his hair sticking up at odd angles. They both gasped in shuddering breaths, their faces inches away. Hajime almost kissed him, then.

But Oikawa pulled away. He offered Hajime one last, sad smile.

“Good-bye, Iwa-chan.”

And then he turned around and walked out of his life.

For a few, awful moments, Hajime was unable to move. He heard the _clomp-clomp_ of horse’s hooves against the dirt road, feeling shocked and numb and empty. It was only when they grew distant that, all at once, Hajime’s body snapped into motion. He shot out the door and ran to the middle of the road, facing the carriage as it drew away. It was still close enough to discern Oikawa’s chocolate brown hair. Hajime’s eyes bored into the back of his head, as if through sheer will, Oikawa would notice his gaze and turn around one last time.

He didn’t look back.

***

Maybe that was the reason Oikawa had called Hajime, of all people, to the throne room that night. Maybe he’d had thought their years of friendship would sway Hajime’s decision, that he would see Oikawa as reasonable. Maybe he’d even thought Hajime would want to help him.

He must have a shit memory, then. Hajime had never so much as gone out of his way for the sake of Oikawa’s ego, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Come on,” he said as he untied his mare from a tree. The prince looked up from his flower crown. Hajime mounted and gestured for the boy to do the same.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Hajime’s lips quirked up in a smile.

“I know a place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the longer chapter and the more non-Snow White elements. From here on out, this story is definitely going to be more Snow White-inspired than a direct retelling.
> 
> Also I made some art for this fic on instagram @booktrash23 if you want to check that out


	4. The Crow Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah it's time to meet the homies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't know how much self-restraint it took not to title this chapter "The Dwarphanage"

Hanamaki Takahiro was having a calm and peaceful day.

Djinn didn’t sleep, not in the way physical beings did, but Takahiro enjoyed the quietude of the early morning hours. Before the birds opened their throats to serenade the new day, before the palace staff trudged to work, when the whole world was hushed—this was the time he liked best. Within the confines of the mirror’s glass, his energy lazily swirled and flowed, intermingled with Issei’s own. As their energies merged, so too did their minds. In this moment, they did not exchange words, but gently pushed and pulled at one another, just as the moon did the sea.

Their tranquility was rudely interrupted by a certain king’s summons.

 _Ugh, not this shit again,_ Takahiro thought.

 _He summons us every day,_ Issei pointed out. _I thought you’d be used to it by now._

_What if we just…don’t answer it this time?_

_Get up and answer it. I’m bored._

Slightly offended, Takahiro nonetheless lifted his energy up from the depths of the mirror until he saw an all-too-familiar face.

“You again,” said the djinni. “What a shock.”

He expected a jibe in response, but the king went right to business. “Show me Ukai Hitoka,” he said. “The princess of Karasuno.”

This should have been easy enough. The utterance of her name should have tugged at Takahiro, like a string connecting him to her. Such was the power names and titles held.

Today, however, the djinni felt no such pull. How curious; perhaps she was very far away. No matter—they’d find her anyway.

It was a common misconception that djinn were omnipresent. This was not, technically speaking, so. Takahiro could not be _everywhere_ at once, but his energy could travel great distances in a short period of time, and so encompass the breadth of the world in a matter of minutes. He could only see, and Issei could only hear, but with their energies combined, they could get a fairly comprehensive view of the world. They could also perceive what humans and other physical creatures could not: the whispers of the dead, flashes of spirits flying overhead, and the dull roaring underneath everything that belonged to the rushing currents of Magic.

Half a thought sent the djinn soaring out of the mirror. Far, across grassy hills and snowcapped mountains, the djinn searched; among the shadowy underbrush of forests; up rivers and into caves and across the vast, sandy expanse of deserts. Over the crested waves of oceans and far, far below, to the hewn cities of the mer-folk and sirens, and the deepest, shadowy waters where only demons lurked.

Princess Hitoka was nowhere to be found.

Through their mental link, Takahiro could tell that Issei’s confusion matched his own. Languid as they may be in following Oikawa’s orders, they prided themselves in their competence, and they had never once failed to track someone before.

 _How can this be?_ Takahiro wondered to Issei. _How can someone vanish without a trace?_

 _It’s impossible,_ his partner agreed. _Wherever she is, she must be obscured with so many charms and spells that not even we can see through it._

 _Maybe that’s what we should look for,_ Takahiro thought. _Instead of Hitoka’s soul, let’s target areas with the densest coverings of magic._

It was as good an idea as any, and so the djinn repeated their search with a new target in mind. The royal palaces of all the kingdoms, of course, shone with magic like beacons in a vast, dark sea. The kingdom of the Karasuno, so dark to beings that could only see sunlight, glowed faintly all around, wreathed in magic like a ghostly mist.

Chances were, she was being kept in her home country; needles were best hidden in haystacks, after all. Even with two djinn on the task, it was daunting. Takahiro struggled to pick through so many overlapping layers of magic, all stuck to one another like cobwebs. There was also the issue that, well, obscuring spells were meant to be difficult to find.

 _This is going to take forever,_ Takahiro complained.

 _I know,_ Issei agreed. _But what kind of djinn would we be if we can’t find one measly kidnapped princess, huh?_

_Perfectly sane, rational djinn who know when to give up._

_Keep looking._

Together, they sifted through countless layers of magic across untold acres of woodlands. Karasuno was a massive kingdom, and they hadn’t even crossed the Miyagi river yet.

 _Maybe she’s here?_ Takahiro thought as he weaselled his way past an interlocking grid of wards, an impossible feat for a non-spirit. Now, he thought he could see—faintly, flickering—a trace of the princess’s soul.

 _Ah, finally,_ the djinn thought—and then an instant later, _Oh, shit._

Because whoever had laid this intricate spellwork had embedded it with several alarms, and Takahiro had just triggered all of them.

As quickly as he could, he backtracked. He had to get back to Issei and warn him, they had to get back to the palace together—

Pain surged through the djinni as something sank its teeth into his energy and bit some off. Physical creatures could not touch him, but other spirits could—and they could eat one another if they so desired.

“Get out! Go!” Takahiro cried, not caring who else heard, only that he must be careful not to speak Issei’s name.

He soared ahead, as fast as he could go, intangible and passing through the trees. The palace couldn’t be too far now—but the huge, shapeless mass of the other spirit was hot on his trail. A burst of pain told him the spirit had eaten even more of his energy. He was slowing down now, and he wasn’t going to make it, he was going to die right here—

The forest shook with the force of what Takahiro realized must be the spirit’s roar. He turned around to see Issei—beautiful, wonderful, stupid Issei—chomp down to take a huge bite out of the writhing, angry spirit.

Issei glowed with newfound energy. Takahiro resolved to berate him later. Their energies merged once more, and as one, they sped toward the palace. The furious spirit followed them all the way back. Djinn were fast, yes, but other spirits were no slower, and they could not think of slowing down until they shot past the protective wards of the Mirror Room. An instant later, a muffled thud sounded as the spirit slammed against the wards, as strong and solid as a wall. Takahiro almost felt grateful to the witch who’d laid them.

“What the hell? That took you forever,” Oikawa said. As a matter of fact, it had been no more than fifteen minutes, but he was accustomed to instant results.

“So sorry to keep you waiting!” Issei spat. “We were busting our asses to find that princess for you and we almost got killed!”

Oikawa blinked. “Djinn can die?”

“ _Yes_ , djinn can die!”

“Okay! I didn’t know that,” the human king said, raising his hands in surrender. “So…where is she? You found her, right?”

“We did,” said Takahiro. “But you’re not going to like what we tell you.”

“What do you mean? Is she dead?” Oikawa asked.

“No, we checked the Land of the Dead,” said Issei. “She’s not there.”

“Then what is it?”

The djinn shared a glance.

“The princess is guarded by a powerful and violent spirit,” Issei explained. “It nearly killed us just now.”

“In addition,” said Takahiro. “Whoever trapped her rigged their shellwork with alarms, so they know we were there. They might be moving her as we speak.”

“And there’s one more thing,” Issei added.

“There’s more?!” Oikawa exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Issei. “That violent spirit followed us back here. Whoever kidnapped the princess knows you’re looking for her.”

***

Sometime in the hours they’d spent trotting between the trees of the endless forest, the huge, puffy clouds of afternoon had given way to rumbly, grey storm clouds, and the heavens opened down upon the earth. The rain seemed to fall in massive sheets that slammed against the ground, the branches, and Tobio’s huddled form. Even bundled up in a cloak, he was soaked to the bone. He shivered, all heat from earlier forgotten as the sun disappeared with little fanfare behind the storm clouds.

Tobio was exhausted. He’d spent most of the day on horseback; his legs were sore, his butt was numb, and he just wanted to find somewhere dry and warm to sleep. When they finally entered a clearing that housed a small cottage, he breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been the lodgings he’d expected, but given the circumstances, he wasn’t picky.

As they neared it, Tobio was struck by just how small the house was. The windows of the thatched roof cottage suggested that it had two storeys, but they seemed squashed down, somehow. The house was scaled down in size, almost as though it were made for children, or…

“Iwaizumi-san,” he said. “Is…is this a dwarf’s house?”

The Huntsman dismounted and began untying their packs from the horse’s back. “Yes. Doesn’t seem like they’re home, though.” Indeed, all the windows were dark, and no smoke rose from the chimney.

Tobio furrowed his brows. “Why are we staying at a dwarf’s house?”

“It’ll be good for you,” Iwaizumi replied with obviously false cheer. “Spending time with a new race, new culture, all that. It’ll expand your worldview.”

Tobio doubted that other members of royalty lived with foreign dwarves to “expand their worldview”, but he could tell that the Huntsman was being intentionally cryptic, and he wouldn’t get a real answer out of him.

The front door creaked open when Iwaizumi tried the handle, and he ducked his head to step inside.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go in?” Tobio asked, squinting to see inside, but he saw only shadows.

“Would you rather wait out in the rain?” Iwaizumi countered, and Tobio couldn’t argue with that. “Come on, I’ve got a candle and some match sticks in my bag; hopefully they’re not soaked.”

They were, but after much frustrated striking, they managed to light the candle. By its meagre light, Tobio appraised his surroundings.

Much of the far wall was taken up by the kitchen. The sink was stacked high with half-washed dishes; the miniature dining table was strewn with chipped mugs and had, inexplicably, a pickaxe stuck in the wood; surrounding it, askew, were ten tiny chairs. The ceiling brushed Tobio’s hair; if he stood on tiptoe, he would bump against it. It was a good thing he wasn’t any taller.

Iwaizumi lit a second candle with the first’s flame, and together they wandered around, curious. One corner of the living room held instruments: a diminutive pipe organ, a red concertina, and some wooden string instrument Tobio had never seen before. A cork board on the wall was overflowing with pinned drawings, some rendered in exquisite detail, others merely colourful scribbles. A wooden staircase led up to the second storey, where Tobio guessed the bedrooms were. Fatigue dragged his feet, and his back ached. He didn’t care how rude it would be to go up and fling his rain-soaked body onto a stranger’s bed—he just wanted to collapse and sleep for a year.

_Bang!_

The door slammed open and hit the wall. The candle fell from Tobio’s grip as he jumped, bumping his head on the ceiling. Ten dwarves, each bearing a torch in one hand and a pickaxe in the other, swarmed into the cottage.

“AAAAAAHHH!!!!!” they cried.

“AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!” Tobio screamed in return.

Metal sang as Iwaizumi drew a double-bladed battle axe from his back and swung it towards the attackers. Every last dwarf stopped dead in his tracks; the dark-haired one in front, his neck only inches from the blade, gulped.

“Daichi-san?” the Huntsman asked with undue casualness.

“I-Iwaizumi-san?” the dwarf squeaked.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” a silver-haired dwarf beside him yelled. “You scared the shit out of us, man!”

“ _I_ scared _you_? You could’ve knocked, you know!”

“On my own front door? We thought you were thieves!”

They were all still yelling, but it seemed their voices were raised by the last vestiges of hysterical fear rather than true hostility. Tobio watched their postures relax and their weapons lower, though he remained tense.

“Sorry about that, Suga,” the Huntsman said as he sheepishly replaced the axe on his back. “It was raining and you weren’t home, so we let ourselves in.”

“No worries, no worries,” Suga assured him, although by Tobio’s account, they’d been extremely worried.

“You guys know each other?” a bald dwarf asked, incredulous.

“Allow me to introduce you,” said Suga, turning around to face the other dwarves. “For those who don’t know, this is Iwaizumi-san. He helped us out about a year ago with a rather…feral dragon-boar that was terrorizing our home.

“It was so cool,” a dwarf with spiky dark hair, save for a blonde forelock, fawned. With a start, Tobio realized that, instead of a torch, his left hand was wreathed in flames. “He soaked a rag in griffin’s blood and rode away from the house to lure the dragon-boar. And then, while the beast was chasing him, he jumped off the horse and sliced it in two with his axe! It was incredible! You had to be there, Tanaka.”

Daichi raised a brow and cross his arms. “How did you know all that, Nishinoya? I thought you were supposed to be at the house. Out of harm’s way.”

Nishinoya’s flames flickered as he nervously laughed. “Ahaha…about that.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “It’s good to see all of you again,” he said. “But I also see you’ve expanded your adoptive family in the past year.”

“Ah, yes, let me show you the newest members!” Grinning, Suga grabbed some younger dwarves from the back of the crowd and pulled them forward. Tobio meant to pay attention as Suga introduced them, but he was caught off guard by one with a very familiar mop of messy orange hair.

“And this is Hinata, who was _supposed_ to lock the—”

 _“You!”_ Tobio yelled, pointing. “Hinata Shoyou!”

“Wh—fake prince?” Hinata stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“I live here!”

 _Just my luck,_ Tobio thought. He turned to Iwaizumi, who was eyeing Hinata with suspicion.

“Hey, hey, why do you two know each other?!” Tanaka asked.

“You’re the dwarf boy who broke into palace grounds yesterday, aren’t you?” asked the Huntsman.

“You did _WHAT?!”_ Suga screeched.

Hinata went white as a sheet. Tobio hadn’t seen him that nervous, even against the palace guards, but he supposed that here, there was nowhere else to run.

“You told us you run away to look for Princess Hitoka.” Daichi said, voice stern.

“Which is a dumb enough plan on its own,” a blond, bespectacled dwarf quipped. “But why the hell would you look for her in the palace of Aoba Johsai, of all places?”

“Hinata! You could have been arrested!” Suga yelled. “You could’ve gone to foreign prison—who would bail you out then?! You—you could’ve been _executed!_ ”

“H-hey, look, they broke into our house—”

“Don’t try to change the subject!”

“Please, Iwaizumi-san, don’t arrest Hinata!” Nishinoya pleaded.

“Yes!” Tanaka added. “He’s a total idiot, but he was just trying to help!”

“Hey!”

“Oh, don’t even act like it’s not true!”

“Everyone calm down!” Iwaizumi implored, bringing his hands up and motioning for them to quiet. Once the clamour died down, he said, “I’m not going to arrest Hinata.”

The dwarves released a collective sigh of relief; Hinata wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

“In return for my kindness,” the Huntsman continued, placing a hand on Tobio’s back and nudging him forwards. “I ask that you look after this boy for a while.”

“Of course, of course,” Daichi said, head bobbing. “We were already in your debt. Who’s this?”

Tobio’s hood still obscured his features. He glanced at Iwaizumi, who gave him a single nod of reassurance. With a steadying breath, Tobio lowered his hood.

Every dwarf in the room gasped.

“Hinata,” a freckled dwarf murmured. “I don’t think that’s a fake prince.”

Tobio shifted on his feet. Even after fourteen years, he wasn’t used to being gawked at. Also, the dwarves were still holding their pickaxes, and he felt uncomfortable being the object of their focus.

“Everyone,” Iwaizumi announced. “This is Kageyama Tobio. He’ll be staying with you awhile.”

“Kageyama Tobio,” a dark-haired dwarf echoed. “The _prince of Aoba Johsai?!_ ”

“That’s him.” The Huntsman clapped Tobio’s back and he stumbled forward, caught off guard.

“The rumours are true,” the freckled dwarf breathed, awestruck. “You really are beautiful.”

Tobio felt too awkward to respond, so he just stared at the hardwood floor.

“Dare I say it…he might even give Kiyoko-san a run for her money.”

“Nishinoya! You can’t be serious!”

“Iwaizumi-san,” Daichi said, stepping forward. “This is quite a shock. Why did you bring the prince of your country here?”

“You said you’d take him in, right?”

“I…did.”

“And you still owe me for that dragon-boar?”

“Yes, that’s true—but you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I’d like to know as well,” Tobio said, turning to the Huntsman. This whole “mysterious adventure into the woods” had been fun at first, but the novelty had very much worn off by now.

Iwaizumi sighed. “Listen, your Highness…I can’t get into the details, but your life is in danger. No one will look for you here, though; you’ll be safe. Daichi, Suga, this shouldn’t pose any additional threat to your kids, either.”

“Is it…” Suga said, faltering. “The same people who took Princess Hitoka? Are they after him, too?”

Iwaizumi hesitated. “I can’t say.” He turned to Tobio. “Lie low for a while, okay? The dwarves will take good care of you.”

“Okay.” Tobio couldn’t keep the dejected tone from his voice as he considered his new home for the foreseeable future.

“I’m afraid I have to be on my way,” Iwaizumi said, turning away from the prince. “It was very nice to see you two again.”

“Do stay the night!” Daichi insisted. “The rain won’t let up until tomorrow.” Iwaizumi shook his head.

“At least have a cup of tea by the fire?” Suga asked; at the hearth, Nishinoya dug his flaming hands into a pile of logs.

“I’d love to, honestly, but…I have to get back to the palace.” The Huntsman patted Tobio’s back one last time. “Take care, your Highness.”

“You too,” Tobio said, his voice low.

“And, hey,” the Huntsman swept his hand towards the dwarves. “You never know what could happen. Maybe you’ll make a new friend.”

Tobio had never made a single friend in his entire life, but he nodded all the same.

Despite how hungry he’d been moments ago, Tobio felt a bit sick to his stomach as he watched the only person that he knew here mount his horse and disappear into the rain-fogged horizon.

An orange mop of hair entered his periphery. Okay—so he knew one other person here. Kind of.

“So you’re really Prince Kageyama, huh?” Hinata asked. Tobio frowned.

“Yes, I thought Iwaizumi-san made that clear.”

“Well, yeah, but…” the dwarf bounced a bit, thinking. “So what’s it like being a prince?”

“It sucks. I have a threat on my life, and now I’m stuck here.”

“Oh…right.”

Choked, mocking laughter sounded from Tobio’s left. It was the dwarf with the glasses. “Incredible conversational skills, Hinata, truly.”

“Shut up, Grumpy!” Hinata’s angry pout was the opposite of intimidating. He turned to Tobio. “This is Tsukishima, but I think Grumpy’s a better name.”

“It’s a terrible name.”

“Exactly, it suits you.”

Tsukishima scowled, but before he could retort, Hinata pointed to his freckled friend. “And this is Yamaguchi, but I call him Sneezy.”

Yamaguchi glanced downwards and rubbed an elbow, self-conscious. “I have allergies.”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima added. “He’s allergic to idiots.”

Hinata stuck his tongue out at the pair as he tugged Tobio by the sleeve towards the fireplace. “Kageyama! Come meet Bashful and Flamey!”

Nishinoya was still crouched at the hearth, hands hovering over the logs to magically spread the fire. At his side, arms full of logs, was a brown-haired man almost the same height as Tobio.

“I didn’t see you earlier,” said Tobio. “Are you human, too?”

“Ah, n-no,” the man stuttered, his cheeks pink. “I mean, I know I look like I am, but—I’m actually half giant and half dwarf.”

“Oh,” said Tobio. He hadn’t known such a cross was even possible.

“You didn’t see Asahi because he was at the back with the babies,” Nishinoya grumbled, not looking up from the fire. “You’re our tallest, strongest member! You should’ve been at the front!”

“But—Noya!” Asahi stuttered, now fully red. “What if they’d actually been dangerous thieves?”

“That’s _exactly_ why we needed you at the front!”

“Stop bickering, you two,” Daichi said as he walked over. He turned to Tobio. “Your Highness, we haven’t formally met. I’m Sawamura Daichi—”

“Also known as Doc!”

“Yes, Hinata has little nicknames for all of us,” Daichi chuckled fondly as he ruffled Hinata’s hair. “Welcome to the Crow Cottage, your Highness; we’re honoured to have you.”

Tobio bowed. “Please, call me Kageyama. Thank you for letting me into your home.”

“Oh, of course, don’t mention it,” said the dwarf. “We accept anyone who needs a place to call home. That’s how we ended up with nine children!”

Tobio was astounded that anyone would willingly subject themselves to this level of chaos. Nishinoya and Asahi, for instance, were still arguing beside him, and Hinata was joining in,.

“Bashful, you should have a giant axe like Iwaizumi-san!” he exclaimed.

“Me? With a weapon like that? Why?!” the half-giant sputtered.

“It’s the perfect disguise!” Hinata insisted. “If you carried something like that around, no one would mess with you! They would have no idea you’re scared of moth-bats!”

“I-I am not!” Asahi said, flushing.

“Hinata,” a dark-haired dwarf cutting vegetables in the kitchen yelled over. “I can’t hear what you’re saying, but stop bothering Asahi.”

Daichi chuckled. “In a house full of hooligans, it’s nice to have someone like Ennoshita around to hold them in check,” he told Tobio.

“I didn’t say anything, Sleepy!” Hinata yelled back.

Ennoshita let out a long-suffering sigh. “I take _one_ nap,” he said.

“You slept through an earthquake!”

“It was a very mild earthquake,” Ennoshita mumbled.

“Oho? Already causing trouble?” Suga strode up to their little group.

“Happy!” Hinata greeted him with a wide grin as he ruffled his orange curls. His smile faltered, however, when Suga gripped his hair tightly and pulled.

“Hinata,” the silver-haired dwarf sang, his voice light and airy. “I’m still so, _so_ mad at you.”

“Haha, Happy, you can let go now,” Hinata said, squirming, but Suga made no move to do so.

“You brought this upon yourself, Hinata,” Daichi said. “You thought you were in trouble before? Just you wait.”

“Does Hinata have a nickname?” Tobio wondered out loud.

“Yeah—Dopey,” said Tsukishima as he walked by. Yamaguchi snickered beside him.

“That’s not true, Grumpy!” Hinata insisted, still stuck in Suga’s grasp. “No one calls me that!”

“Maybe we should, after the shit you pulled yesterday.”

“Tsukishima! Language!” Suga barked.

“I still can’t believe you did that, Shoyou,” Nishinoya said as he stood, pleased with the level of the blazing fire.

“He jumped over the palace wall,” Tobio supplied.

Nishinoya shook his head. “Of course he did. What an absolute mad lad. I still can’t tell if I’m more impressed or concerned.”

“Alright, is the fire ready?” Tanaka asked from the kitchen. “Chikara, help me with this.”

The two dwarves strained as they hauled a cast iron pot as big as they were and hung it on a hook above the fire.

“That’ll be done in about an hour,” said Tanaka, dusting his hands off.

“Alright, everybody wash up,” Suga said, finally letting go of Hinata’s hair and turning to address all the dwarves. He turned back to Tobio. “Your Highness, let me show you where the bathroom is.”

“You can just call me Kageyama,” Tobio said. Suga smiled, slightly moving the mole by his left eye.

“Do you have a change of clothes?”

“…I think so?” Tobio said as he unslung a leather bag from his shoulder and unbuckled the straps. The servants had packed his bags; he didn’t really know what was inside. There were, indeed, clothes inside, and thankfully they weren’t too wet.

“Good, then follow me,” the silver-haired dwarf said, making for a door near the staircase.

Tobio had never seen a bathroom like this before. Glazed ceramic tile entirely covered the small room. Two faucets stuck out of a wall, dripping slowly into a large metal pail, a small cup hooked on its lip. On the floor beside it was a glass bottle of indigo liquid. Another wall held a metal sink at Tobio’s waist height, the shelf above which held an array of toothbrushes. It was a far cry from the clawfoot porcelain bathtubs and vials of fragrant oils he was used to.

The prince shook his head to himself. He’d been so eager to leave the palace, to escape the old memories of his parents and, more recently, his stepfather. But now, in this foreign house filled with strangers, he found that he craved the familiarity and luxury of his royal home. _Be careful what you wish for_ —he cringed at the accuracy of the old adage.

“The tap on the right is for hot water,” said Suga, snapping Tobio out of his thoughts. “And we have towels on this shelf here. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Okay,” Tobio said, and with a smile, Suga closed the door behind him.

The bathroom grew steamy as the bucket filled with hot water. Tobio dipped the small cup into the water and sighed as he poured it over his cold skin. He still wished for a bath, so that he might submerge his whole body in the water, but he made do with hurriedly trying to cover as much area as possible.

The elderberry scent of the blue soap lingered on his skin and hair even after he towelled himself dry. Tobio pulled a pair of satin pyjamas from his bag, frowning at how absurdly opulent they now seemed, but he didn’t have much else to wear.

He emerged from the bathroom, his skin cleaner and his head clearer. Once he entered the living room, he lingered in one place, unsure of what to do next. Hinata was talking to Daichi and Suga by the kitchen sink, while some others cleaned up around them. Tanaka lifted the lid of the bubbling cauldron, filling the room with scented steam, to feed Ennoshita a spoonful of soup; Nishinoya stood by, ready to adjust the heat. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi laid the table. Everyone, it seemed, had something to do and someone to talk to.

It took a moment, but Daichi was the first to notice Tobio, and he waved him over.

“Hinata, why don’t you go wash up,” he told the orange-haired boy, who pouted and stormed off.

“What were you talking to him about?” Tobio asked.

“It’s nothing,” Daichi replied, too quickly.

“Kageyama,” Suga said. “We were wondering…do you know anything about this threat? About how it might relate to Princess Hitoka’s disappearance?”

Tobio shook his head. “No, sorry,” he said. “I only know what Iwaizumi told all of us.” The Huntsman hadn’t mentioned any details; it had all been very strange.

Suga worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’d thought not,” he murmured. “Thanks anyway.”

Tanaka finally declared the soup ready as the last few dwarves were cleaning up, and the family assembled in a line behind the cauldron, bowl in hand. Each dwarf got a ladleful of soup and a slice of sourdough bread. Tobio wasn’t sure what to expect in terms of taste; it smelled more strongly of ginger and garlic than what he was used to.

The prince struggled to balance on the small stool Suga had found for him. The dining table had been cramped before he’d been added to the mix, and now his elbows brushed against Hinata and Yamaguchi where they sat at either side of him. The table itself was also too low for him, and he had to reach over his knees to eat.

Everyone else dug into their food with ferocity. Tobio took a tentative sip of the soup and appraised the flavour: it was lighter on cream and spices than the soups at the palace, but it certainly wasn’t bad. He dipped his bread into the broth.

“So, Kageyama,” said Daichi. “What do you like to do for fun?”

Tobio paused his chewing. No one had ever asked him that question before. He had no fondness for any academic discipline, but he was always happy to play polo or golf or fence with the weapons masters. “I like sports,” he finally said.

“You do? Hey, Suga—”

“Tanaka, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry. Should we bring out the rubber ball and net for tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah!” Nishinoya’s eyes lit up. “If the prince plays, Asahi can play on the other team and it’ll be a fair match!”

The other dwarves all seemed very excited about this prospect.

“What game is this?” Tobio asked.

“We call it bounce-ball!” Hinata exclaimed, eyes sparkling.

“No,” said Tsukishima. “Only you call it that. The rest of us call it volleyball.”

“But we bounce the ball on our arms,” Hinata said, bringing his forearms up. “ _Bounce_ -ball.”

“What the hell do you think ‘volley’ means?”

“Language,” Suga reprimanded.

Tsukishima mumbled something under his breath that sounded like _hell isn’t a curse word._ Suga raised his brows, but didn’t push it.

The dwarves moved on to other topics: the cherries and peaches that were finally in season,

the Midsummer festivities in distant Nekoma. They notably avoided any discussion of their missing princess friend, or the strange new presence of a prince. Tobio was grateful that they drew little attention to him; he was content to sit and eat and observe their dynamics.

At a lull in conversation, he cleared his throat and asked Daichi and Suga, “How did you two meet?”

It was a question most couples loved to answer, and their answering smiles indicated they were no exception.

Suga leaned over and covered Daichi’s hand on the table with his own. “Ah, it was…thirteen years ago now, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said Daichi, rubbing Suga’s hand with his thumb. “The best thirteen years of my life.”

Herein followed various utterances of _“awww”_ s, _“ugh”_ s, eye rolls, and giggles from their assembled adolescent charges.

“Here comes the spider-snake story,” Yamaguchi said.

Tobio’s eyes widened. “…Spider-snake?”

“We’re getting there! Hold your horses,” said Daichi.

“I was a schoolteacher for very young children at the time,” Suga explained. “And one of my students was a very adventurous, _very_ inquisitive little boy.”

“I was a patrol guard,” said Daichi. “Keeping the area safe from monsters and other threats. We didn’t work far from each other, but we’d never met. Until one day…”

“Oh, I’ll never forget that day,” Suga said. “When I counted the students at the end of the lesson and realized there was one missing—I nearly had a heart attack!” he suddenly glanced askance at Hinata. “In fact, it wasn’t unlike how I felt two days ago when Hinata ran away.”

The orange-haired dwarf frowned and looked down into his empty soup bowl. “I’m sorry,” he said in the world’s smallest voice.

“Does this mean the rest of us are allowed to compare Hinata to a kindergartener, too?”

“No, Tsukishima,” said Suga. “As I was saying—the child had gone. I set off into the woods like a madman, trying desperately to retrace this little boy’s steps.”

“Meanwhile,” said Daichi. “I’d been told there was a spider-snake in that part of the forest—a big one—and to keep an eye on it. Imagine my horror, then, when a five-year-old dwarf boy emerged from the underbrush and walked straight into its web.”

He paused for dramatic effect. The other dwarves, though they’d clearly heard this story before, nonetheless sat with rapt attention. Tobio was at the edge of his seat.

“Now, the silk of a spider-snake is remarkably sticky,” Daichi continued. “And on top of that, the beast spits venom. So, in order to save this child, I had to be incredibly careful. I ducked behind a tree, knife in hand, ready to cut the boy free whenever the spider-snake diverted its attention elsewhere. But then…”

Suga cleared his throat. “See, I did _not_ have a plan.”

“Before I get a chance to do anything,” Daichi said. “This strange young man bursts onto the scene, yells the boy’s name, grabs him—and gets caught in the web himself.”

“Not my finest hour,” Suga admitted. “So now the boy’s stuck and I’m stuck and we’re both struggling to get out, which I later learned you should _never_ do in a spider-snake web, because they’re blind and that how they locate you. And now that this spider-snake knows it has dinner lined up for itself, it comes down and starts spitting venom at us. And _then_ , a man with a knife shows up!” he paused and everyone laughed. “At this point I’m thinking, ‘man, this is a really dramatic way to die.’ But he cut the web off of us,” Suga put a hand over his heart. “And then he shielded us from the venom with his body!”

“You’re forgetting the best part, dear,” Daichi said, chuckling. He turned to Tobio. “Suga took off one shoe, reached around me, and with a battle cry, he bonked the creature on the head. I’ve never seen a spider-snake look _confused_ before, and I don’t think I ever will again. It scuttled away and left us alone after that.”

“The boy was alright, thank goodness,” said Suga. “After we took him home, I took Daichi to a healer for the venom burns, and the whole time we were together, we were just arguing about how reckless the other had been. I mean, honestly, the poor healer had to tell us to calm down a few times! And then, when he was patched up and we were set to go our separate ways…he asked me if I was free that weekend.”

Tanaka whistled. “Very smooth, Daichi-san.”

Daichi flashed his gold wedding band. “Say what you will about my methods, but the results speak for themselves.”

This earned raucous laughter from Nishinoya. The dwarves continued exchanging stories, until Tobio’s eyelids grew heavy with sleep. He didn’t realize he’d dozed off leaning on Hinata until the dwarf boy shoved him off; he came to with a start.

Daichi noticed his predicament. “Time for bed, everyone,” he announced. “It’s been quite a day, and you’re all tired.”

The dwarves all washed their own dishes, and for a moment Tobio felt a tiny bit grateful to his stepfather for making him learn how to do chores like this. When he was done, he followed everyone else upstairs.

Three bedrooms took up the second floor: two for the kids, and one for their adoptive parents. The only bed that could fit Tobio was Asahi’s, and so they’d given it to him. Tobio felt bad, seeing the half-giant curled up on a pile of winter blankets on the floor, but Asahi had insisted.

Tobio rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. Something poked his shoulder.

“ _Psst._ Hey, Kageyama.”

He rolled his eyes at the window. All four beds were pressed flush against each other to save space, which meant that Hinata was, unfortunately, close enough to disturb his sleep. “What is it?”

“If I went looking for Hitoka again,” he whispered. “Would you come with me?”

“Don’t say yes.” Said a flat, annoyed voice.

“Grumpy! You’re awake?” Hinata whisper-yelled.

“If you run away again, Suga’s actually going to kill you,” Tsukishima said. “And, as much as I’d love to see that, I’d prefer to spare him the grief.”

“But she’s still out there!” Hinata insisted. “Somewhere alone, and—and scared out of her mind, and—”

“And what? You’re going to be the one to find her?” Tsukishima challenged. “When all the knights have failed? When Lady Kiyoko has failed? What makes you think you’ll actually succeed?”

“We’ll never know if we don’t try!” Hinata hissed.

Yamaguchi folded his pillow over his ears. “Less talking, more sleeping.” he groaned.

The dwarves fell silent after that, though a certain tension persisted. Tobio stared at the moon, half-hidden by clouds, and fell asleep pondering the princess’s fate.

***

Pig’s hearts were about the same size and shape as a human’s. Hajime had never thought he’d have to put this knowledge to use, but here he was, hands slimy and coated with blood as he rummaged through the royal butcher’s scraps. Being a hunter, he wasn’t usually affected by the feeling of animal meat on his skin, but remembering that this was supposed to be the prince’s blood dripping from his hands, Kageyama’s raw heart held in his palm—Hajime was overcome by a wave of nausea.

 _Not now,_ he thought. He had to suck it up for his prince. For his king.

He placed the blood-covered porcine organ in the box—Oikawa hadn’t said to clean it, after all—and closed it. He slunk to the steel sink and grimaced as he turned the grimy faucet. The water that poured forth was cold as ice, and Hajime gasped as he submerged his hands, but it was worth it to get them clean. Blood came away from skin and painted red swirls in the water. It was almost pretty, in a gruesome sort of way.

Luckily for him, the rain was still pouring hard, and no one had seen him sneak into the palace butcher’s room. He’d made sure to bring his key with him when he left for the forest. If anyone told Oikawa about this, it placed his entire plan in jeopardy.

Speaking of reporting to the king—he had to do that, right now. It was well past moonrise, and Hajime would hate for his delay to arouse the king’s suspicions. Even so, the thought of facing Oikawa filled Hajime with such dread and disgust that it was an effort to shoulder his pack, box in hand, and head inside the palace.

Kyoutani intercepted him on his way to the throne room. The Captain of the Guard stood at attention, even in the downpour.

Hajime wasted no time on formalities. “The prince is missing. Sound the alarm.”

“I—he’s _what?!_ ”

“Kidnapped,” Hajime clarified. “I’m on my way to tell his Majesty about it now. Get the word out.”

Impressively, Kyoutani’s bewilderment lasted only a second before he schooled his features and set off. Minutes later, as Hajime slunk through the torchlit palace halls, high-pitched alarm bells rang from the towers overhead, announcing that the royal family was in danger.

Hajime slammed the throne room door behind him when he entered. Oikawa, lounging casually on his throne, only raised his brows at the glare Hajime sent his way.

“So you did it?” was all the king asked.

The box burned in Hajime’s hand. On impulse, he chucked it at full speed at Oikawa’s face. The king barely had time to raise his hands before it slammed between his brows.

“ _Ow!_ What the fuck?!”

“You’re welcome.” Hajime was too angry to be thinking rationally. Oikawa had dismissed his guards out of secrecy, so for the time being, Hajime could harm without immediate repercussion. There wasn’t much stopping him from wringing the king’s neck right now.

Oikawa seemed to realize this, too. He rubbed reddening site of impact and his fingers came away bloody.

“Ah. I see you’re still mad about…that.” He opened the box and peered inside, injury suddenly forgotten.

 _Still mad._ Oh, the king had only gotten a taste of the fury that roiled beneath Hajime’s skin. He still couldn’t believe that this man—the highest authority in the kingdom, his childhood best friend—had tried to murder his own stepson. And he’d gotten Hajime to do the dirty work for him.

“Good. You’ve got it. Okay.” Oikawa continued, his voice subdued, almost absent. Hajime wondered if this was the first time the magnitude of his assassination had sunken in. As he stared at what he believed was his stepson’s dead heart, did he feel guilt? Remorse? Hajime didn’t know him well enough anymore; his expression was inscrutable.

“What now?” Hajime asked. The question snapped Oikawa out of his trance, and he looked up from the box.

“Oh.” The king paused for thought. “Well, um. You’re dismissed, I suppose—”

“Like hell I am.” The Huntsman prowled closer. He could only guess at how predatory his expression was, but he fully enjoyed Oikawa’s nervous gulp as he advanced. “You’re going to answer my question— _what now?_ What are you going to do with yourself, now that the heir to the kingdom is gone?”

The king gaped. Hajime really hoped he’d given this some thought. “Well—I told you before—we’ll say that he was kidnapped, and—”

“And then what?” Hajime asked, taking another step. “You’ll send out search parties for him and act surprised when they return empty-handed? You’ll wait out the months until he’s presumed dead and pretend to cry at his funeral?” Hajime scoffed. “You’re pathetic.”

Oikawa clenched his jaw. “You will not speak to your king this way—”

“And then what, huh?” Hajime continued, pressing forward. “You get a few more years on your precious throne, and then you’re out! The crown will pass to one of Kageyama’s distant cousins, and then, what—will you kill them, too?” Hajime barked a mocking laugh as he walked, a sound he hadn’t thought he’d been able to make. “Do you think they’ll keep you around as Royal Potions Master? Or did you honestly hope they’d promote you to Councilman? Get a fucking clue. They’ll kick you to the curb and say ‘good riddance’ _and then what?_ ” Hajime drew even closer. “Will you move back in with your family, who you haven’t talked to in years?” Hajime asked. “Or will you gather what money you’re left with and move to the islands? Will you still drink beauty potions when there’s no one around to look at you anymore?”

Hajime was almost nose-to-nose with Oikawa now. The king was dumbstruck, his brown eyes wide with shock and his hands white-knuckled on the armrests; he was backed up into his throne with nowhere else to go. Both men panted, close enough to breathe the same air, and Hajime was so struck by the memory of the last time they’d been this close that he recoiled.

“That’s enough.” The king’s voice was low but steady. “My plans for the future are none of your business. You are fired for misconduct. Go pack your things.”

Iwaizumi raised his brows. “Are you so sure you want me to leave the palace? Out in the world, among so many people…who knows what I might _accidentally_ slip loose.”

Oikawa held up the box in one hand. “Are you saying you’d rather end up like precious Tobio-chan?”

Hajime gulped. “You wouldn’t kill me,” he said with more conviction than he felt. “You wouldn’t be able to look my mother in the eyes when she asks you how I died.”

“I don’t give a shit who’s crying at your funeral,” Oikawa hissed through clenched teeth. “If you speak of this to anyone, _I will end you._ Now get out.”

“If you make me walk through those doors, I’ll tell the first person I see the truth.” For the second time that night, Hajime branded his battle axe. “And good luck trying to kill me one-on-one.”

“My guards will be here any minute,” Oikawa said, his voice fast and high pitched. “I’ll tell them you attacked me with an axe, and you’ll be hanged for treason.”

“I’ll say I was defending myself from a murderous king.”

“ _You’re_ the one who killed Tobio! Not me! I’ll tell them I had no part in this—”

“I’m not the one with a heart in a box” Hajime pointed out. “If you think his blood isn’t as much on your hands as it is mine, then you’re an idiot. Now, let’s get one thing clear: you’re not going to fire me, and you’re not going to kill me. You’re going to keep me by your side, where I can make sure you aren’t a menace to anyone else.”

“I don’t understand why you’re still so mad about this” Oikawa exclaimed. “What’s done is done. The prince is dead. Why disobey my orders now, when it doesn’t matter anymore?”

“Because you were always a terrible stepfather!” Hajime yelled. “That child didn’t do anything wrong, and you treated him like shit for it. Just because he’s more beautiful than you.”

“That boy had everything just by virtue of being born,” Oikawa growled. “More wealth, more power, and more beauty than anyone else, and he didn’t have to work a day for any of it. He doesn’t appreciate anything he has! We’ve had to work our entire lives for scraps—don’t you feel even the tiniest bit of resentment?”

“No,” Hajime said, lowering his axe. “I don’t. Because there’s one thing he doesn’t have, which none of those other things will ever make up for: a family. You’ve sure as hell never appreciated yours.” Hajime shook his head. “He deserves so much better than you.”

A muscle feathered in Oikawa’s jaw as he regarded Hajime, his expression cold as ice. He replaced the box on the throne’s armrest. “Interesting,” he said. “How you keep using the present tense.”

It took a second for his meaning to sink in, but once it did, Hajime’s eyes widened in fear before he could stop himself. That look, he knew, was more telling than anything.

Oikawa jumped out of the throne and sprinted, black cape flowing, towards the eastern doors. Hajime ran after him, fast enough that the king wasn’t able to close the doors on him.

Hajime hadn’t been down these corridors before, but he knew they led to Oikawa’s personal chambers. _Why was he running there so desperately?_ Hajime wondered, but he didn’t have time to think on it further; he had to stay at Oikawa’s heels. Hajime reached a hand out in front of him, trying to grab Oikawa’s cape, but the king was one step ahead of him: he unfastened the cape and let it drop behind him, leaving Hajime to slip on the black velvet. Hajime cursed as he stumbled, nearly falling, and raced to catch up again.

The king burst into his room and made immediately for the adjoining chamber—the Queen’s room, Hajime realized. No one had occupied it since her passing, but Hajime didn’t have to wonder why Oikawa was there for long, because the king ducked behind a massive blue tapestry and seemed to disappear behind it.

A second later, Hajime pulled back that same tapestry to find a stairway leading down, dimly lit by torches. _Secret passageways. Of course._ Hajime cursed his luck and followed Oikawa down.

The air grew thicker as they descended. Both men panted, gasping for breath, but neither slowed their pace. When the stairs ended, Oikawa did not hesitate before running straight to the farthest room. He flung the ancient wooden door open and slammed it shut, but not before Hajime could shove his shoulder through. The shock rattled his bones, but he stood firm, pushing with all his might against the door and the widening gap. Both men strained, but in the end, Hajime was heavier and stronger; he muscled his way through and stumbled inside the room.

“You can’t be here,” Oikawa said, panting.

“Holy shit,” Hajime breathed.

The room was small, but it was overflowing with things: wooden chests, rolls of carpets, bags glinting with gold and jewels, all pushed up against the walls in massive piles. Hajime also spied a large, standing globe, several vases painted with ancient designs, and sculptures of creatures he didn’t recognize. All of this was illuminated by an eerie, greenish light emanating from a mirror on the far wall of the room. Hajime stared at it, transfixed by its otherworldly glow.

He started when Oikawa barked, “Makki! Mattsun!”

To Hajime’s shock, the reflection in the mirror was replaced by the image of two male faces— _djinn_ , he realized. The brown-haired one yawned before asking, “What is it this time?”

_“Who is the fairest of them all?”_

Hajime’s heart dropped when the faces disappeared; in their place, barely illuminated by a ray of moonlight, was the sleeping—but very much alive—figure of Kageyama Tobio.

“It’s still the prince, of course,” said the dark-haired djinni, reappearing.

“He’s still alive?!” Oikawa screeched. He turned to Hajime, pointing. “You lied to me!”

Well, the truth was out now, no matter how much Hajime had tried to contain it. “Yes, I lied to you,” he said, his voice cold. “And I’d rather be a liar than a murderer. I never had any intention of killing the prince—I only took the job so I could get him away from you.”

“Where is he?” Oikawa demanded, his face twisting with rage. Hajime didn’t answer.

“Makki? Mattsun?” Oikawa said, turning to the mirror. _“Where is Kageyama Tobio?”_

The two djinn exchanged a glance, almost as though they could speak without words.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” The brown-haired one said. For a moment, the two stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills.

“I am your summoner,” Oikawa said, panting, as he stepped closer. “And I _demand_ that you tell me where he is.”

“No.”

“I—” Oikawa’s stammered. “What do you mean, _no?!”_

“No, we’re not answering your question,” said the dark-haired djinni. “And no, you’re not our summoner.”

Oikawa’s jaw dropped. For a moment, he seemed incapable of speech, which Hajime found as marvellous as the mirror itself.

The dark-haired djinni fixed his gaze on Hajime. “You’re new,” he said by way of greeting.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he said. “I’m the Royal Huntsman.” He hadn’t expected to introduce himself to two djinn tonight, of all things.

“Matsukawa Issei,” the djinni replied. “And this is my partner, Hanamaki Takahiro.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hajime said, shaking his head in wonder. _Of course Oikawa would nickname magic spirits._ “I didn’t know the king had a scrying glass.”

“Oh, it’s not something you want to advertise,” said Hanamaki. “People get testy when they find out you have spirit spies.”

“What do you mean, I’m not your summoner?” Oikawa asked, the words finally having processed.

“Did you really think you were?” Hanamaki scoffed. “Please. You’re an idiot who read a piece of paper and found two magic spirits in a basement. We’re not bound to serve you at all. You didn’t honestly think summoning was that easy, did you?”

Oikawa’s blink explained that he had, in fact, thought exactly that.

“In addition to a natural affinity for magic,” Matsukawa explained. “Summoning two djinn of our calibre would require years of study, knowledge of extremely complex spells, the ability to draw intricate circles, and seven human sacrifices—among other things.”

Hajime and Oikawa both gaped at the mirror.

“This is the only magic mirror east of the Miyagi river for a reason,” said Hanamaki.

“If I’m not your summoner, then…who is?” Oikawa asked. Hajime had been wondering the same.

The djinn exchanged a meaningful glance, as though they could read each other’s minds.

“That’s none of your business,” said Matsukawa. “They’re long dead, anyway.”

“And yet, their spell is still in place,” Oikawa marvelled.

“Summonings are not ordinary spells, Oikawa,” Hanamaki explained. “You’d know that if you actually knew anything about the Dark Arts. The only way to break our bond to this mirror is to shatter the glass itself.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Hajime, stepping forward. “You don’t have any obligation to do what Oikawa says.”

“Correct,” said the djinn.

“And yet, you do anyway,” he continued. “Why? For…fun?”

“Pretty much,” Matsukawa replied. “There’s not much else to do around here. It gets boring.”

“Also, it’s hilarious to watch Oikawa do that stupid chant every time.” Hanamaki smirked.

Oikawa’s cheeks pinked. “You two have let me make a fool of myself all these years?” he said.

“It was excellent entertainment,” said Hanamaki. “Too good to pass up.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Ideally, never.”

“Wait,” said the king, realization dawning on his face. “Have you _ever_ told me the truth, about anything?”

“Yes,” said Matsukawa. “When it suited us.”

“And when was that?”

“You’ll never know.”

Oikawa buried his face in his hands. “This is a disaster,” he groaned. “The most important component of my espionage network can _lie_ to me!”

“To be fair, so can all of your human spies,” Hanamaki pointed out. Oikawa shot him a glare.

“Why are you protecting Tobio, anyway?” asked the king. “What’s in it for you?”

The djinn looked mildly offended. “Is it not enough that we wish to prevent a child’s murder?” Matsukawa asked.

“I wasn’t aware that djinn were such moral beings.” Oikawa drawled.

“There are many things you’re unaware of.” Hanamaki said. Hajime raised a brow at the cryptic phrase.

The king sighed. “There nothing I could do to get you to tell me where he is?”

Hajime opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Hanamaki said, “Nope.”

“Actually, there is one thing,” said his partner.

Oikawa’s brows shot up. “Yes?”

“You could break the glass.”

“Oh.” The king’s enthusiasm plummeted. “I…I’ll do it.”

Hanamaki snorted. “No, you won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he said. “Even though we can refuse to follow your orders, even though you don’t know when we’re lying or not, we’re too valuable an asset for you to just let us go.”

Oikawa’s frown confirmed the djinni’s claim. Hajime thought he was going to push the issue, but instead he turned around and grumbled, “I need a nap.”

“Aren’t humans usually asleep at this time?” Matsukawa asked. “It’s almost sunrise.”

“Rational humans, yes,” Hajime said. Now that the adrenaline of the night had worn off, his eyelids felt heavy, and he had to suppress a yawn.

“I’m going to sleep,” said the king, making for the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Hajime said, following him. Oikawa turned his head and cocked a brow.

“So eager to join me in my bed, Iwaizumi?”

Despite himself, Hajime felt his face burn. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Ugh. Ever heard of boundaries?” Matsukawa asked.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier about keeping an eye on you,” Hajime explained. “You’re going to keep me by your side 24/7, or I get the word out about the prince _and_ the magic mirror.”

Oikawa frowned, then shrugged a shoulder. “Fine. We’ll figure something out.”

Hajime blinked; he hadn’t expected the king to acquiesce so quickly.

“G’night, Makki, Mattsun,” Oikawa said as he left the room. Hajime turned back and gave the mirror a little wave before following the king out.

The stairs seemed much steeper and more numerous now that fatigue had set in. Oikawa, too, was trudging himself up with effort. Finally, he pulled the tapestry aside, and they emerged into the queen’s chamber.

“You can sleep here, if you want.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Hajime said. He was honestly grateful he wouldn’t have to sleep in a chair by Oikawa’s bed.

“I’ll tell the servants to bring your things up,” Oikawa said. He turned around and gave Hajime a meaningful glance. “They’ll probably make assumptions about…us.”

“I don’t care.” Hajime said, surprising himself with how true it was. His mission right now was more important than any rumours that might spread about him.

The king’s face softened somewhat, but before he could reply, there was loud _bang, bang, bang_ on his door. When Oikawa opened it, they foundCaptain Kyoutani standing at attention.

“Your Majesty,” the Captain slightly inclined his fuzzy blond head, his gaze pausing on the bruise on Oikawa’s forehead. He cast Hajime a sideways glance. “Huntsman.”

He was no doubt wondering why they were in the king’s chambers instead of the throne room. Hajime felt heat prickle at the back of his neck; maybe he was a _little_ uncomfortable with such assumptions being made to his face in real time.

“Captain,” said Oikawa. “Iwaizumi already informed me about the prince’s disappearance.”

“Yes, I’ve sent search parties out,” said Kyoutani. “But that’s not why I’m here.” At the king’s confused expression, he continued, “I’ve just received a messenger eagle from Shiratorizawa.”

His eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“King Ushijima and his Council request an urgent meeting. They are already on their way and will arrive by mid-afternoon.”

Oikawa covered his face with one hand. “Fuck my life.”

Hajime had to agree.


	5. Damsel in Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever happened to our dear Princess Hitoka?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up 7 months later sipping boba tea and flashing a peace sign* hey sorry I'm late, here's an extremely short chapter  
> tbh I've had it written for months now and it was collecting dust in my computer but I wanted to maintain my streak of writing longer chapters. However, I simply do not have the mental capacity to finish all the other scenes I had planned, so you get this.  
> Important note: Hitoka's surname is Ukai instead of Yachi in this fic. She is Ukai Keishin's (the coach) daughter.

Ukai Hitoka’s cell was spun from thin air and magic.   
Every morning, she watched the sunrise paint the sky red and gold, but felt none of the dawn’s warmth on her skin. She heard the howling gales that shook the branches surrounding her, but felt no chill raise the hair on her arms. When dark clouds snatched the sunlight and a storm raged over the land, the rain crashed into the air above and around her, dripping down as though she were encased in a great glass ball. A princess trapped in a reverse snow globe.   
When she was kidnapped, she’d expected her captors to throw her into a dim crypt enclosed with iron bars, or perhaps lock her in a high tower, separated from freedom by a fatal fall. She hadn’t expected her cell to be a such a mockery of her gift.   
Hitoka, and all the members of the Ukai bloodline since her great-grandfather, had the unique ability of magical immunity. Spells, potions—none of it had any effect on her. All her life, people told her that this was a special form of protection, that she was one of the only people in the world who was invulnerable to dark magic. Her gift, she’d believed, was a boon.  
This meant that the carefully woven spells that prevented the outside world from seeing or hearing her, therefore, did not function in reverse: she could still see and hear everything around her.   
Iron manacles worked on her just fine, though.  
Hitoka reached out her hands, desperate to feel the rain with even the very tips of her fingers, but she could not reach the invisible barrier before the iron manacles around her wrists dug sharply into her skin, the chains pulled taught and unyielding. She strained, her arm shaking from the effort, her muscles at their limit. She was almost there.  
With a sigh that was more of a sob, she dropped her arm and let it thud on the dry ground beside her.  
This was maddening. She was going to go insane here, if she wasn’t already.  
She wondered, not for the first time, what she had done to deserve this. Not that other kidnapping victims deserved their fate, of course, but…she’d always been so careful. Being royalty meant spending your whole life aware of the target on your back. Royals would always have enemies—and deep enough coffers to satisfy kidnappers. Hitoka’s fathers had raised her to always sniff her drinks, to keep close to her guards, to stay in her quarters past sundown.  
And yet, it hadn’t been enough. 

* * *

Hitoka had fallen asleep in her own bed and woken up tied to a chair in a dim room. On the desk in front of her, a single oil lamp illuminated two heavily cloaked figures, their faces cast into shadow by large, drooping hoods.   
“What’s happening?” she’d slurred, hysteria creeping into her voice as awareness took hold. They must have give her a sleeping draught or sedative. “Where am I? Who are you?!”  
“You’d benefit more from offering answers than questions,” said the taller one, a man. “Our identities are inconsequential. Give us what we need, and we will let you go.”  
Hitoka’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as her breathing hitched. She wrestled against the coarse ropes and felt the wooden chair rock against the floor.   
“Do be careful, Princess,” he warned. “You could tip the chair over and hurt your head. Best to stay still.”  
Hitoka couldn’t help the hysterical laugh that welled up in response. This man, who’d snatched her from her home and tied her up, was acting concerned for her? It would have made sense for his tone to be mocking, but he sounded entirely sincere.  
“What do you want from me?” she asked. She’d meant for her voice to sound enraged and defiant, but it came out as a breathless squeak. It was almost funny, how she was immune to truth potions but a shit liar.  
“Just one thing,” the man said. “The key to the Underground City.”   
Hitoka blinked. She wondered if she’d heard the man right; was the sleeping draught still in her system?   
Karasuno wasn’t as wealthy now as it used to be, but it wasn’t the poorest kingdom, either. She’d expected demands of gold and jewellery, or even some of the priceless magical artifacts kept in the private royal collection. She’d thought they would take her jewellery, at least, but the gold on her neck and ears remained untouched.   
“What Underground City?” she asked, just in case the confusion on her face wasn’t enough.  
“The mines beneath the Karasuno Forest,” the man explained. “Which follow the same course as the River of Magic.”  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hitoka said, gasping for breath. The River of Magic was a bedtime story, and she’d never even heard of any Underground City. Were these people insane? Was Hitoka at the mercy of crazy people who chased fairytales and hearsay?  
For the first time, the shorter figure moved. Gloved hands emerged from their enormous sleeves, and Hitoka immediately recognized their gestures as the Language of Hands. Perhaps they’re deaf or mute, she thought; or maybe they have a voice I would recognize.  
She could be lying, they gestured.  
“…She could be,” the man agreed, though from his tone he clearly thought otherwise. “But without a truth potion, interrogation won’t—”  
Hitoka had no warning before the shorter person drew a knife from their belt and pressed the blade to her neck. She gasped, staring straight into deep shadows under their hood where a face should be. A thin trail of blood trickled down her neck. She could not help the whimper that escaped her throat.   
“Please, I don’t know!” she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, please don’t hurt me—”  
“That’s enough.” It wasn’t until the man’s hand wrapped around his partner’s arm that Hitoka realized he was talking to them and not her.   
With reluctance, they stepped back and returned the blade to its sheath. Hitoka took in huge lungfuls of air. The cut on her neck was superficial and barely stung, but the fear of the knife cutting deeper dug claws into her mind. She could still feel the phantom press of the blade against her throat.  
The man pulled a rag and a small glass bottle from the depths of his cloak. As he soaked the rag, he said, “If you truly don’t know anything, we’re going to have to put you back to sleep.”  
“No,” Hitoka moaned, hating the fear written into every sound and every crevice of her face as the rag approached closer. “Don’t do it. Just let me go, please…”  
“Forgive me, Princess.” He pressed the rough, wet fabric to her face, holding the back of her head when she leaned back. Her lungs betrayed her—she inhaled, the sharp chemical smell harsh in her nose, and then her vision went black.

* * *

It was twilight when she awoke in this strange cage made entirely of magic. At first, she foolishly thought she’d been set free. She made to get up—and was yanked to the ground by the chains around her wrists, buried deep into the earth. She called into the forest for help until her voice was hoarse, but she didn’t understand why no one took notice, not even the little birds and squirrels that bustled about the trees around her. It wasn’t until she saw a strong breeze sway the leaves but felt nothing on her skin that she realized there was some magical barrier enclosing her. Hitoka had wondered many times why it was designed this way. Was it arrogance? Had the spellcaster been so sure in their command of magic that they hadn’t bothered with a conventional prison holding? Or was it a merciful streak—had they wanted to give her sunlight and nature for company, rather than lock her up in a dark cell? The taller cloaked figure visited her three times a day to give her food and water, but she never dared ask him such questions. 

* * *

Late in the third morning of her capture, Hitoka decided that the circumstances of her confinement were no mercy at all.   
She’d heard the dull thunder of horse’s hooves from afar, and had hardly dared to hope it might be a particular grey-speckled mare until she broke through the trees.   
Atop the mare’s back, resplendent in her full silvery armour, Lady Kiyoko Shimizu’s fierce blue eyes scanned the forest.   
It had only been a few (horrible, terror-stricken) days since Hitoka had seen her dear friend, but she’d missed Shimizu so much it ached. The leader of the Knights and Hitoka’s own personal guard, Shimizu was always by Hitoka’s side. The princess liked to imagine that it wasn’t just duty keeping Shimizu in her company; that perhaps the knight enjoyed Hitoka’s presence, her conversation, her sense of humour, even a fraction as much as Hitoka enjoyed hers. Sometimes, she even fooled herself into thinking there might be something more between them. But she was certain that, no matter what happened, Shimizu would always found her way back to Hitoka’s side. Even through her ordeals, this belief had stood firm; seeing it manifested, her knight in chainmail riding towards her, Hitoka’s heart swelled in her chest until she thought it might burst. She gasped, making to stand up, but the manacles pulled her back down.   
“Kiyoko?” she called out. She knew rationally that the spells prevented the knight from hearing her, but she couldn’t keep the hope from her voice, not when she hadn’t tasted it in so long. “Kiyoko, I’m here!”  
Mounting horror took hold in Hitoka’s gut as Kiyoko’s eyes darted around her, past her, everywhere but on her. The knight’s brows creased in confusion as she spurred her horse to walk in circles around Hitoka, no doubt the effect of another spell, one meant to muddle the mind of anyone who wandered near.  
“Hitoka?” Kiyoko murmured, and hope speared through Hitoka’s chest like a weapon. Louder, she called, “Princess? Hitoka!”  
“Shimizu!” Hitoka cried, pulling at her chains with newfound fervour because Kiyoko was right there in front of her, her horse snorting at the edge of the barrier, and her eyes seeing right through her. “Shimizu, I’m right here! You found me…” her voice trailed off into a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Kiyoko frowned, confusion still clouding her normally sharp gaze.   
“No,” Hitoka moaned as Kiyoko shook her head. She tugged on the chains again, knowing it made no difference, but unable to stop trying anyway. The knight tugged on the reins, leading her mare away. “No, Kiyoko, come back! Shimizu!”  
Hitoka was watched, helpless, as her knight ride off.


End file.
